St
il/v.3
Interdisciplinary Investigations of the Boott Mills
Lowell, Massachusetts
Volume III: The Boarding House System as a Way of Life
Cultural Resources Management Study No. 21
Division of Cultural Resources
North Atlantic Regional Office
National Park Service
U.S. Department of the Interior
1989
JNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA
JAN 1 7 1990
LIBRARIES
DEPOSITORY
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012 with funding from
LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation
http://archive.org/details/interdisciplinar00vol3
LOWE300
LOWELL NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK SURVEY PROJECT
INTERDISCIPLINARY INVESTIGATIONS OF THE BOOTT MILLS
LOWELL, MASSACHUSETTS
volume mn
THE IBOARDIMG HOUSE SYSTEM AS A WAY OF LIFE
Edited by Mary C. Beaudry and Stephen A. Mrozowski
with contributions by:
Mary C. Beaudry
Kathleen H. Bond
Gregory K. Clancey
Lauren C. Cook
David H. Dutton
William F. Fisher
Gerald K. Kelso
David B. Landon
Stephen A. Mrozowski
Karl J. Reinhard
Grace H. Ziesing
Cooperative Agreement No. CA1600-5-0004
Report Prepared for:
National Park Service
North Atlantic Regional Office
15 State Street
Boston, MA 02109
Report Prepared by:
Center for Archaeological Studies
Boston University
675 Commonwealth Avenue
Boston, MA 02215
Cultural Resources Management Studies No. 21
Division of Cultural Resources
North Atlantic Regional Office
National Park Service
U. S. Department of the Interior
1989
CONTENTS
List of Figures v
List of Tables xv
Preface xvii
Acknowledgments xix
Chapter 1: Introduction by Mary C. Beaudry 1
Chapter 2: The Origin of the Boott Boardinghouse Plan and Its Fate After 1836
by Gregory K. Clancey 7
Chapter 3: "that we may purify our corporation by discharging the offenders": The
Documentary Record of Social Control in the Boott Boardinghouses
by Kathleen H. Bond 23
Chapter 4: Domestic Ideology and the Economics of Boardinghouse Keeping
by David B. Landon 37
Chapter 5: Archeology in the Backlots of Boott Units 45 and 48: Household Archeology
with a Difference by Mary C. Beaudry and Stephen Mrozowski 49
Chapter 6: 'Thrasher's China" or Colored Porcelain: Ceramics from a Boott Mills
Boardinghouse and Tenement by David H. Dutton 83
Chapter 7: The Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels from the Boott Mills
by Kathleen H. Bond 121
Chapter 8: Analysis of Personal Effects from Excavations of the Boott Mills
Boardinghouse Backlots in Lowell by Grace H. Ziesing 141
Chapter 9: Faunal Remains from the Boott Mills Boardinghouses by David B. Landon 169
Chapter 10: Descriptive Analysis of Tobacco-Related Material from the Boott Mills
Boardinghouses by Lauren J. Cook 187
Chapter 11: Tobacco-Related Material and the Construction of Working-Class Culture by
Lauren J. Cook 209
Chapter 12: Contextual Archeology at the Boott Mills Boardinghouse Backlots by Gerald
K. Kelso, William F. Fisher, Karl J. Reinhard, and Stephen A. Mrozowski 231
Chapter 14: Discussions and Conclusions by Stephen A. Mrozowski and Mary C. Beaudry 279
References 293
Appendix A Boott Company Correspondence Microfiche
Appendix B Ceramic Vessel Count Microfiche
Appendix C Catalog of Faunal Remains Microfiche
Appendix D Results of Soil Chemistry Analysis Microfiche
Appendix E Artifact Catalog Microfiche
FIGURES
Figure 2-1. Detail of 1825 Lowell map showing duplexes belonging to the
Merrimack Company. From "A Plan of the Land and Buildings belonging to
the Merrimack Manufacturing Company..." made in 1825 by Geo. R.
Baldwin. (Courtesy of the Lowell National Historical Park.) 8
Figure 2-2. 1832 map of Lowell depicting brick boardinghouse blocks built by the
Merrimack Corporation along Dutton Street. (Courtesy of the Lowell
Historical Society.) 9
Figure 2-3. John Coolidge photograph of a later Merrimack Company brick housing
block on the east side of Prince Street. (Courtesy of the Museum of
American Textile History.) 10
Figure 2-4. John Coolidge photograph of Harvard Yard. Mill housing was at times
compared favorably to academic dormitories. (Courtesy of the Museum of
American Textile History.) 1 1
Figure 2-5. Front and end elevations of "one of the Boott blocks of Boarding Houses,"
1836. (Locks and Canals Collection. Courtesy Lowell Historical Society and
University of Lowell Special Collections.) 12
Figure 2-6. Floor plans of Boott boardinghouse, 1836. (Locks and Canals Collection.
Courtesy Lowell Historical Society and University of Lowell Special
Collections.) 14
Figure 2-7. John Coolidge photograph of "New Block" of Merrimack Company housing,
built ca. 1845. (Courtesy of the Museum of American Textile History.) 15
Figure 2-8. Amoskeag blocks no. 1 and 3, first and upper stories (2). Not to scale.
(Copied by Gregory K. Clancey from plans at the Manchester Historical
Society. Redrawn by David H. Dutton.) 16
Figure 2-9. Middle units, Amoskeag block nos. 2, 4, 5, 6, 10, 15, 16, 17, first and upper
stories (2). The end units were identical to those shown in Figure 2-8,
but the number of middle units per block varied. Not to scale. (Copied by
Gregory K. Clancey from plans at the Manchester Historical Society.
Redrawn by David H. Dutton.) 17
Figure 2-10. John Coolidge photograph of Overseer's Block, Boott Mills Corporation.
(Courtesy of the Museum of American Textile History.) 18
Figure 2-11. Elevation and plans of Bay State Mills boardinghouse, Lawrence,
Massachusetts. (Reproduced from Shattuck 1850.) 19
Figure 2-12. Essex Company Machine Shop blocks, Lawrence, Massachusetts, ca. 1847;
first story of 2 1/2 stories. Fifty units were constructed, in rows of 61 -17 units
each. Not to scale. (Copied by Gregory K. Clancey from plans at the
Manchester Historical Society. Redrawn by David H. Dutton.) 20
Figure 3-1. A man washing up outside the rear door of a Homestead, Pennsylvania,
boardinghouse. Note bottles and other refuse accumulated on the ground
against the building. (Lewis Hine photograph reproduced from Byington
1910.) 28
Figure 3-2. A group of men playing cards in the courtyard of a Homestead,
Pennsylvania, boardinghouse. (Lewis Hine Photographgraph reproduced
from Byington 1910.) 31
Figure 5-1. Lewis Hine photograph of washday in a Homestead, Pennsylvania,
boardinghouse backlot. (Reproduced from Byington 1910). 51
Figure 5-2. Lewis Hine photograph of a Homestead, Pennsylvania, boardinghouse
backlot. (Reproduced from Byington 1910). 52
Figure 5-3. John Coolidge photograph of backlots of mill housing in Somersworth, New
Hampshire. These free-standing wooden board inghouses have two backlots
apiece, each with a clothesline, many with gardens, all with weedy growth of
some sort. (Courtesy Museum of American Textile History.) 53
Figure 5-4. John Coolidge photograph of backlots of brick mill housing in Somersworth,
New Hampshire. Behind these blocks of housing are clotheslines, sheds,
and, in the foreground, an animal pen. Note also the accumulated refuse as
well as weedy growth along buildings and fence lines. (Courtesy Museum of
American Textile History.) 54
Figure 5-5. The backlots shown in Figure 5-2 sometime later. Note that the animal pen
has now been partly roofed over with corrugated tin sheeting held down by
planks and stones; a number of tubs and crocks are lined up against the
enclosure. (Courtesy Museum of American Textile History.) 55
Figure 5-6. John Coolidge photograph of alley-facing mill housing in Lowell. The refuse
accumulated in the unpaved alley and overflowing from the trash barrels is
creating an archeological record not unlike that uncovered by Faulkner et al.
in an alley outside a waterfront boardinghouse in Newburyport,
Massachusetts. (Courtesy Museum of American Textile History.) 58
Figure 5-7. Plan of 1985 test trenches and the 1986 excavation units in the Locks and
Canals parking lot adjacent to the restored boardinghouse (now the Patrick J.
Mogan Cultural Center). The dashed lines represent the footprints of two
demolished board inghouses located through comparison with the 1892
Sanborn map. (Drawing by Gerald MacComber and David H. Dutton.) 62
Figure 5-8. Plan of Operation A, the rear yard of Boott unit 48, a supervisors tenement.
Residents of the street-facing tenement did not have direct access to the
backlot and its privy but had to enter through the gate opening (features 21
and 22, bottom center, are post holes of this gate) onto French street.
(Drawing by David H. Dutton.) 63
Figure 5-9. Plan of Operation B, the rear yard of Boott unit 45 and a small portion of unit
44 (at top); both were boardinghouses. (Drawing by David H. Dutton.) 64
Figure 5-10. Overhead view of Operation A. The rubble-filled cellar is at the right; the
bulkhead entry and ell project from this. The well incorporated into the ell
foundation was shared with adjacent unit. A stone-line privy (upper left) was
housed in a woodshed at the rear of the yard. Various drainage features,
post holes, and planting holes can also be seen. Camera faces south.
(Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.) 65
Figure 5-11. Feature 23, the bulkhead entry. Note that entry into cellar has been blocked
up. Camera faces west. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.) 67
Figure 5-12. View of feature 23, bulkhead entry, also showing features 27 and 38, planting
holes. Camera faces west. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.) 68
Figure 5-13. View of the back wall of the boardinghouse; rubble fill of the cellar is at the
top; the gate posts (features 21 and 22) are at the left; from left to right can be
seen the bulkhead entry (feature 23, two planting holes (features 27 and 38,
the rear wall of the boardinghouse (feature 30), the ell (feature 33), a drain
(feature 34), and the well (feature 43). Below the ell lies a drain box and pipe
trench (features 37 and 44), and in the lower right an unexcavated feature
(35) thought to be a cesspit. Camera faces west. (Photograph by Paul S.
Giblin.) 70
Figure 5-14. Detail of Operation A showing features 33, 34, 43, 37, and 44. Only a portion
of feature 44 was excavated; the trench continues around the corner of the ell
foundation and is cut by feature 38, a planting hole. Camera faces south.
(Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.) 72
Figure 5-15. Early 20th-century photograph of the interior of a tenement water closet in
Lowell worker housing. (Reproduced from Kenngott 1912.) 74
Figure 5-16. Feature 50, an ell foundation in Operation B. A line of stones at the top of the
photograph may have been part of previous ell foundation. In the
foreground can be seen two of the granite sills used atop the boardinghouse
foundation. The darker areas of soil in this photograph are indicative of the
highly organic nature of the deposits in this backlot. Camera faces east.
(Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.) 76
Figure 5-17. View along the rear wall of units #45 and 44, Operation B. Camera faces
south. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.) 77
Figure 5-18. Feature 61, the Operation B privy, when first uncovered. The blackened area
to the left is a deposit of coal dust; the stones have been pushed into the fill
of the feature. Camera faces north. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.) 79
Figure 5-19. Feature 61 after excavation, looking straight down into the privy vault.
Portions of a wooden box or internal partition can be seen on the right; at the
top is a cast-iron vent pipe. Camera faces west. (Photograph by Paul S.
Giblin.) 80
Figure 6-1. French & Puffer advertisement from Lowell Sunday Arena February 12,
1893. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 87
Figure 6-2. A. G. Pollard & Company advertisement from Lowell Sunday Arena
February 12, 1893. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 88
Figure 6-3. Redware flower pot recovered from tenement backlot. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.) 91
Figure 6-4. Impressed blue shell edged pates from the boardinghouse and tenement
backlots (1830-1850). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 93
Figure 6-5. Brown floral transfer printed plates from the boardinghouse and tenement
backlots (1880-1910). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 93
Figure 6-6. Undecorated whiteware plate (left) from the tenement and platter (right)
from the boardinghouse. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 94
vii
Figure 6-7. Photograph of boardinghouse dining room ca. 1910. (Courtesy of Lowell
National Historical Park) 95
Figure 6-8. Undecorated whiteware tea/coffee cups from the boardinghouse and
tenement backlots. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 96
Figure 6-9. Handpainted saucers from corporate housing backlots (1840-1860).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 97
Figure 6-10. Large undecorated yellow ware bowl from the boardinghouse backlot.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 99
Figure 6-11. Sponge decorated stoneware bowls from the backlot excavations (1860-1935).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 99
Figure 6-12. Diamond trademark registration. (Reproduced from Godden 1964:527-528) 106
Figure 6-13. Sampson, Bridgewood & Son (LTD) of the Anchor Pottery, Longton,
Staffordshire Potteries (1884-1891). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 109
Figure 6-14. American Crockery Company, Trenton, New Jersey (post-1890). (Photograph
by Richard S. Kanaski.) 109
Figure 6-15. Knowles, Taylor & Knowles Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1881).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 109
Figure 6-16. John Alcock Pottery, Cobridge, Staffordshire Potteries (1848-1851).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 109
Figure 6-17. U. & R. Boote Ltd, Waterloo, Burslem, Staffordshire Potteries (1853-1856).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 110
Figure 6-18. John Edwards & Company, King Street, Fenton, Staffordshire Potteries (1891-
1900). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 110
Figure 6-19. Homer Laughlin China Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (1879-1897), pattern
mark "Colonial" printed beneath. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 110
Figure 6-20. Warwick China Company, Wheeling, West Virginia (1879-1900).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 110
Figure 6-21. Cook Pottery Company, Trenton, New Jersey (post-1894). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.) 112
Figure 6-22. International Pottery Company, Trenton, New Jersey (post-1903).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 112
Figure 6-23. Taylcr, Smith & Taylor Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1901).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 112
Figure 6-24. Goodwin Pottery, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1844). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 112
Figure 6-25. West End Pottery Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1893). (Photograph
by Richard S. Kanaski.) 116
Figure 6-26. Potter's Co-operative Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1876).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 116
Figure 7-1. Feature 46, a bottle dump just outside the tenement privy. Camera faces
east. (Photograph by Paul Giblin.) 123
Figure 7-2. Rectangular medicine bottle embossed Dr. Chmielnicki & Co., Chemists
Somerville, Massachusetts. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 125
Figure 7-3. Embossed wording on the side of W. F. Severa medicine bottle. (Photograph
by Richard S. Kanaski.) 125
Figure 7-4. Two rectangular medicine bottles. Left, W. F. Severa medicine. Right, Dr.
Chmielnicki & Co., Chemists. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 126
Figure 7-5 Five empontilled medicine bases. Top left, octagonally-shaped vial, two-part
mold. Top center, bottle, dip molded (ribbed design is not visible). Top right,
vial, dip molded (ribbed design not visible). Bottom left, vial, dip molded or
free blown. Bottom right, Moses Atwood's Jaundice Bitters bottle, dip
molded. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 126
Figure 7-6: French Square medicine bottle. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 127
Figure 7-7 Two toiletry and ointment jars. Left, milk glass screw-top toiletry or medicine
jar. Right, screw-top Vaseline ointment jar. (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 128
Figure 7-8 Three medicine bottles. Left, light green Kemp's Balsam. Center,
unembossed bottle, with inset front. Right, unembossed vial. (Photograph
by Richard S. Kanaski.) 128
Figure 7-9. Three pint liquor flasks. Left, flask embossed "One Pint." Center, flask
embossed "Guaranteed Full Pint." Right, H. Swartz & Co. flask. (Photograph
by Richard S. Kanaski.) 129
Figure 7-10. Advertisements in 1900 Lowell City Directory for P. Dempsey & Co. and
James Calnin, as well as other Lowell liquor dealers. (Photograph by Richard
S. Kanaski.) 130
Figure 7-11. Partial Rickett's "wine" base. Base from yard scatter. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.) 132
Figure 7-12. Detail of embossing on Rickett's "wine" base. (Drawing by Leslie A. Mead.) 132
Figure 7-13. Advertisement in 1901 Lowell City Directory for Harvard Brew Company.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 134
Figure 7-14 Three soda bottles. Left, embossed P.Kelley & Co. Center, embossed P.
Kelley. Right, embossed Jas. Calnin & Co. (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 135
Figure 7-15. Detail of the Kelley and Calnin soda bottles. (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 135
Figure 7-16. Advertisement in 1897 Lowell City Directory for P. Kelley. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.) 136
Figure 8-1. Some of the 86 white utilitarian sew-through porcelain buttons excavated
from the Boott Mills backlots in Lowell (scale in cm). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.) 142
Figure 8-2. A few of the plain white porcelain stationary collar studs excavated from the
Boott Mills backlots in Lowell (scale in cm). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 143
Figure 8-3. Stationary and lever-top collar studs available from the 1895 Montgomery
Ward catalog. Note that these are specifically identified as collar buttons,
and that one is labelled exclusively for ladies. (Reproduced courtesy of
Dover Publications, Inc.) 143
Figure 8-4. A sample of "jet" buttons available from Montgomery Ward in 1895.
(Reproduced courtesy of Dover Publications, Inc.) 145
Figure 8-5. Plain and decorated porcelain buttons ("Agates" and "Fancy Pearl Agates")
advertised in the 1895 Montgomery Ward catalog. (Reproduced courtesy of
Dover Publications, Inc.) 146
Figure 8-6. Formal and decorative typology used throughout this analysis to facilitate
description of white porcelain buttons. Buttons can be described both in
terms of shape: A) dish; B) saucer; C) mound; D) inkwell, and decorative
elements: E) hobnail border; F) pie-crust border. The dish is the most
common and the least distinctive shape as the size, slope, and shape of the
rim is variable. In a sense, this is a "catch-all" designation for those buttons
that do not fit into the other, more distinctive, categories. In addition, there is
a banded variety in which the edge is painted in a solid color. Banding
occurs most frequently on inkwell shaped buttons, but can also be found on
dishes, hobnails, and pie-crusts. (Drawing by Leslie A. Mead.) 149
Figure 8-7. Two-hole porcelain buttons. Buttons in top row and at either end of center
row are mound-shaped (scale in cm). (Photographby Richard S. Kanaski.) 150
Figure 8-8. Four-hole porcelain buttons. Buttons in top row are inkwell-shaped with
banded decoration. The buttons in the middle row are dish-shaped with pie-
crust borders. The first button in the bottom row is dish-shaped with a
hobnail border and the rest have pie-crust borders (scale in cm).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 150
Figure 8-9. Miscellaneous buttons: A) glass hemispherical button with probable loop
shank from Feature 6 behind the boardinghouse; B) faceted orange glass
self-shank button from Feature 46 behind the tenement; and C) four-hole
wood button from level 1 in Operation B (scale in cm). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.) 151
Figure 8-10. Black glass buttons. A) Pressed glass button with swirl design and polished
facets running down the center recovered from level 1 of Feature 43 in
Operation A. B) One of two identical pressed glass buttons found in level 1 of
Operation B. Two-thirds of the surface is faceted and the other third is
fashioned as a smiling quarter-moon face. C) A pressed black glass button
with polished facets and an applied silver luster which makes the button
resemble steel. This button was recovered from level 1 in the open yard area
of Operation B. D) A large faceted pressed glass button probably meant for
an overcoat, found in level 2 of the boardinghouse yard. E) A pressed glass
button with a geometric design and unpolished facets uncovered in level 4 of
Trench #1. (Drawing by Leslie A. Mead.) 152
Figure 8-11. Metal alloy self-shank button excavated from level 1 of the privy in
Operation B (Feature 61). (Drawing by Leslie A. Mead.) 152
Figure 8-12. Decorative clothing stud, possibly half of a cufflink, set with a blue stone,
uncovered in level 3 of Trench #1 (scale in cm). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 153
Figure 8-13. Celluloid pin-back button manufactured after 1893. The legend reads "KISS
ME [illegible] I'M STERILIZED" and may be related to the influenza
epidemic of 1918. The button was found in level B of the privy in Operation
A. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 155
Figure 8-14. Two brooches that probably framed photographs or miniatures. A) Brooch
with copper alloy frame and braided border found in level 2 behind the
tenement. A dense white substance that may be paper adheres to the back
of the glass. B) Brooch with copper alloy frame with elaborate border found
in level 1 of Feature 38, also behind the tenement. Remnants of paper fibers
and Photographgraphic emulsion are evident within the frame, suggesting
that a photograph was mounted on this brooch (scale in cm). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.) 157
Figure 8-15. Top and side view of rhinestone pin uncovered within the ell in level 1 of the
boardinghouse excavation (scale in cm). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 157
Figure 8-16. Some of the combs excavated from the backlots of the Boott Mills'
boardinghouse/tenement. A) Straight comb, possibly made of horn. B)
Hard rubber fine-tooth comb (see also Figure 8-18b). C) Side comb, possibly
made of tortoise shell. D) Hard rubber side or back comb, bent over so that
the bridge will cover the hair where the comb enters it (see also Figure 8-
18a). E) Plastic side comb with decorative bridge. Combs A-D were found in
level 1 of the yard area behind the boardinghouse. Comb E was excavated
from level 9d of the well (Feature 2) in Trench #2, also behind the
boardinghouse. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.) 159
Figure 8-17. Front and back view of small oval barrette with cotter pin clasp from level 1 of
the boardinghouse backlot (scale in cm). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.) 160
Figure 8-18. Two hard rubber combs with imprints. A) Side or back comb with bent
bridge (see also Figure 8-16d). B) Fine-tooth comb (see also Figure 8-16b).
Both combs were found in level 1 of the boardinghouse backlot. (Drawing by
Leslie A. Mead.) 161
Figure 8-19. 1917 Photograph of textile worker drawing-in, showing the use of hair combs
and hair pins to keep the hair up. Note also the beaded necklace.
(Reproduced courtesy of the Museum of American Textile History.) 162
Figure 8-20. 1917 Photograph of mill worker filling a shuttle, showing the use of a bar pin
on the front of her work smock. (Reproduced courtesy of the Museum of
American Textile History.) 163
Figure 8-21. Women sitting on the back steps of a Homestead, Pennsylvania,
boardinghouse ca. 1910, showing the use of plain white utilitarian burtons
down the front of the shirtwaist dress of the woman to the right in front.
(Lewis Hine photograph reproduced from Byington 1910.) 167
Figure 9-1 . Proximal view of a butchered cow humerus showing striations left by a saw. 1 70
Figure 9-2. Rat bones recovered during excavation at the boardinghouses. a, b) right
dentary, c) left humerus, d) right tibia and fibula, e) right innominate, f-h)
right femora; a,b,d,and e are probable black rat (Rattus rattus). 174
Figure 9-3. Size 3 femur showing extensive rodent gnawing, caudal view. 174
Figure 9-4. Plan of Operation A showing distribution of bone fragments and bones with
rodent damage. B-bone fragments, RD-rodent damage. 176
Figure 9-5. Plan of Operation B showing distribution of bone fragments and bones with
rodent damage. B-bone fragments, RD-rodent damage. 177
Figure 9-6. Butchered sections of Bos taurus and size 5 ribs from the boardinghouses.
All views shown are of right ribs, medial view. Shaded areas represent the
portion present. SW-saw, BK-break 178
Figure 9-7. Butchered sections of Bos taurus bones from the Boardinghouses. Shaded
areas represent the portion present. SW-saw, BK-break, Sh-shear. Not to
scale, a, b) Left humerus, volar view, c) Left humerus, lateral view, d) Right
femur, plantar view, e) Pelvis and sacrum, slightly ventral cranial view.
Additional cut and chop on caudal side. 179
Figure 9-8. Butchered sections of Bos taurus and cf. Bos taurus bones from the
Boardinghouses. Shaded areas represent the portion present. SW-saw, SH-
shear, CT-cut, BK-break. Not to scale, a) Cervical vertebra, caudal view, b)
Atlas, cranial view, c) Thoracic vertebra, cranial view, d) Thoracic vertebra,
right lateral view, e) Left scapula, lateral view. 180
Figure 9-9. Butchered sections of Sus scrofa and Ovis/Capra bones from the
boardinghouses. Shaded areas represent the portion present. SW-saw, SC-
scrape, SH- shear, BK-break. Unlabelled jagged lines represent breaks. Not
to scale, a) Ovis/Capra, left tibia, dorsal view, b) Ovis/Capra, left tibia,
plantar view, c) Sus scrofa, left radius and ulna, lateral view, d) cf. Sus
scrofa, left scapula, lateral view, e) Ovis/Capra, right scapula, lateral view. 181
Figure 9-10. Butchered portions of cow bones, a. left humerus, distal view. b. left scapula,
distal view. c. left illium, caudal view (rotated 90° counterclockwise). See also
Figure 9-7a, e and Figure 9-8e. 183
Figure 10-1. The parts of a pipe. 188
Figure 10-2. "Davidson/Glasgow" pipestem fragment. Made by Thomas Davidson & Co.,
Glasgow, 1863-1891. 188
Figure 10-3. McDougall/Scotland pipe. Made by McDougall & Co., Glasgow. 189
Figure 10-4. "W. White/Glasgow" pipestem fragment. Made byWilliam White & Son,
Glasgow, 1805-1891. 189
Figure 10-5. William White & Son "Small Plain T.D." pipe fragment. This badly worn
example bears the mold number "78," and was smoked after the stem was
broken off. 191
Figure 10-6. John Waldie & Co. pipestem fragment, made in Glasgow, 1870-1891. 191
Figure 10-7. German pipestem fragment, post-1891. 192
Figure 10-8. "Gouda/Holland" pipestem fragment, post-1891. 192
Figure 10-9. "S.T.&C. /Boston" pipestem fragment, apparently produced for Stephen
Tilton & Co. of Boston, wholesale tobacconists, 1840-1904. Not to scale.
(Drawing by Lauren J. Cook.) 194
Figure 10-10. Geometrically embossed pipestem fragment. 194
Figure 10-11. Tapered mouthpiece. 195
Figure 10-12. Lipped mouthpiece. 195
Figure 10-13. Broken mouthpiece showing tooth wear. 196
Figure 10-14. Whittled mouthpiece. 1%
Figure 10-15. Left, "Apple shape pipe bowl fragment, impressed "IF..." or "IR..." on bowl
back. Right, "Woodstock shape" pipe bowl, maker unknown. 197
Figure 10-16. "Home Rule" pipe bowl fragment. Maker unknown, but possibly R.
Bannerman, Rouse's Point, N.Y., or Thomas Davidson, Glasgow. Not to
scale. (Drawing by Lauren J. Cook.) 197
Figure 10-17. "Dhudeen" pipe bowl fragment, maker unknown. 200
Figure 10-18. "Wolf Tone" pipe bowl, side views. Not to scale. (Drawing by Lauren J.
Cook.) 200
Figure 10-19. "Wolf Tone" pipe bowl, showing front seam. 201
Figure 10-20. Nautical motif pipe bowl fragment. Not to scale. (Drawing by Lauren J.
Cook.) 201
Figure 10-21. Fluted pipe bowl fragment, showing foliate front seam. 203
Figure 10-22. Partially fluted pipe bowl base fragment. 203
Figure 10-23. Terra-cotta "claw" pipe bowl fragment. Not to scale. (Drawing by Lauren J.
Cook.) 204
Figure 10-24. Armorial pipe bowl fragment, with unidentified seal on bowl back. 204
Figure 10-25. Plastic pipe mouthpieces. Top, Operation A, feature 44, level B. Bottom,
Operation B, 21n8w, level 2. 204
Figure 10-26. Blue plastic pocket calendar fragment, 1895-1896. The business that
distributed this calendar has not yet been identified. 206
Figure 11-1. 'The Smokers," Henry R. Robinson, lithograph, 1837. Arents Tobacco
Collection, New York Public Library. (Courtesy New York Public Library.) 217
Figure 12-1. The layout of Kirk Boott's estate as shown on "A Plan of the Land and
Buildings belonging to the Merrimack Manufacturing Company..." made in
1825 by Geo. R. Baldwin. Excavation unit 21N/8W indicated by shading.
(Courtesy Lowell National Historical Park.) 233
Figure 12-2. Operation B., unit 21N8W. Features 61 and 65 indicated by hatching. 234
Figure 12-3. Operation A. Feature 27 indicated by hatching. 235
Figure 12-4. Theoretical pollen concentration, degradation and differential age
distribution patterns in soil. 238
Figure 12-5. Fort Necessity, Pennsylvania. Pollen frequencies, core No. 3. 240
Figure 12-6. Pollen concentration and degradation patterns, Scottow's Dock, Boston,
Massachusetts, ca. 1640-1820. 242
Figure 12-7 Kirk Street Agents' House, Lowell, Massachusetts. Pollen frequencies,
Square J. 243
Figure 12-8. Palynologist's field sketch: soil stratigraphy and pollen column location,
21N/8W, northwest profile. 244
Figure 12-9. Relative pollen frequencies, 21N/8W, northwest profile. 247
Figure 12-10. Relative pollen frequencies, 21N/8W, northeast profile. 248
Figure 12-11. A view of the Boott millyard published in Gleason's Pictorial in 1852. This
romanticized scene presents an idealized image of early 19th-century
industry. 249
Figure 12-12. Palynologist's field sketch: soil stratigraphy and pollen column location,
21N/8W, northeast profile. 252
Figure 12-13. Relative pollen frequencies, Feature 27 and Feature 65. 253
Figure 12-14. Relative pollen frequencies, Feature 61. 254
Figure 12-15. Palynologist's field sketch: fill stratigraphy and pollen column location, north
wall, Feature 61. 256
Figure 13-1. Stereopticon view, ca. 1889, showing unidentified workers standing outside
Boott housing in Amory Street. The Boott Mills complex is to the right; to the
left, the end of a boardinghosue block can be seen. The narrow wooden
structure with a pitched roof is a woodshed; note the opening or gate into the
fenced backlot and ivy growing up the rear wall of the boardinghouse.
(Courtesy of the University of Lowell Special Collections and the Lowell
Historical Society.) 281
Figure 13-2. An unidentified Polish family pose on the stoop of their Boott tenement, ca.
1912. (Reproduced from Kenngott 1912.) 286
Figure 13-3. The residents of an unidentified boardinghouse block turn out for a group
photograph, ca. 1910 (?). Note flower pots outside second third-story window
from the right. (Courtesy of the Society for the Preservation of New England
Antiquities.) 287
TABLES
Table 4-1. Employment distribution of Boston women in 1884. 40
Table 4-2. Employment in domestic and personal service for Boston women in 1884. 40
Table 4-3. Employment distribution for women in Massachusetts in 1885. 40
Table 4-4. Employment in domestic and personal service for Massachusetts women in 1885. 41
Table 6-1. Summary of ceramics by ware type. 90
Table 6-2. Summary of ceramics by vessel type. 92
Table 6-3. Summary of ceramics by decoration. 92
Table 6-4. Summary of Miller index values. 100
Table 6-5. Comparison of ceramic vessels per person. 101
Table 6-6. Counts and percentages of ceramic types within total vessel counts. 101
Table 6-7. Table, storage, serving, and tea and coffee wares. 102
Table 6-8. Transfer printed flatware, edged flatware, and banded bowls. 102
Table 6-9. Summary of vessels per form. 102
Table 6-10. Ceramic terminus post quern by feature. 104
Table 7-1. Minimum vessel count, operation A. 122
Table 7-2. Minimum vessel count, operation B. 122
Table 9-1. Basic quantification of the faunal assemblage from the Boardinghouses. 171
Table 9-2. Fragment quantification by taxon or size classification and element. 172
Table 9-3. Quantification of bone burning for the boardinghouses. 175
Table 9-4. Quantification of butchery marks on the boardinghouse bones. 182
Table 9-5. Meat cuts represented, economic rank, and cost-efficiency rank. 184
Table 10-1. Modifications of mouthpieces, all contexts. 198
Table 10-2. Post-1891 features. 207
Table 10-3. Distribution of Scottish pipe stems marked Glascow by operation and level. 207
Table 10-4. Distribution of Scottish pipe stems marked Scotland by operation and level. 207
Table 12-1. Vernacular and Latin names of plants. 237
Table 12-2. Grass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce festucoid (trapezoid)
phytoliths. 261
Table 12-3. Grass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce chloridoid (saddle)
phytoliths. 261
Table 12-4. Grass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce panicoid (bilobate)
phytoliths. 262
Table 12-5. Grass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce polylobate and cross-shaped
phytoliths. 262
Table 12-6. Phytoliths from 21N/8W NW profile. 263
Table 12-7. Phytoliths from 21 N/8W NE profile. 263
Table 12-8. Percentage of corroded phytoliths from 21N/8W NW and NE profile. 265
Table 12-9. Stratigraphic levels from operation A and B and the ppm of selected elements. 269
Table 12-10. Drainage features and the ppm of selected elements. 269
Table 12-11. Possible planting holes and the ppm of selected elements. 269
Table 12-12. Privies and the ppm of selected elements. 269
Table 12-13. Boott Mills boarding house plant macrofossil analysis results. 274
PREFACE
In this, the third and final volume of reports on the investigations of the Boott Cotton Mills
operation in Lowell, the focal point of our efforts is once again the mill operatives and the
boardinghouses in which they lived. With the boardinghouses now gone and the examination
of interior space limited to documentary research, we have endeavored to probe the proxemics
of the worker's daily lives by turning our attention to the rear yards. These small but
intensively used areas served the needs of mill workers and boardinghouse keepers alike. Here
was a truly urban space where work and leisure activities merged to create a material record
that is a select yet fitting legacy for a laboring people. Much like the prankster's jar of peanuts
that explodes in the hands of the unsuspecting dupe, the boardinghouse yards have contained
innumerable surprises. By employing excavation techniques geared for maximum horizontal
coverage and an array of interdisciplinary analytical techniques, we hope that few of the
surprises have eluded us.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank the many skilled participants who have
contributed their time and talents to this investigation of mill life in Lowell. Never have I
worked with such a dedicated group of researchers. I would especially like to thank Mary
Beaudry and the many graduate students from Boston University who have performed such an
outstanding job. To my colleague Gerald Kelso, many thanks for the hours of argument and
discussion; they have been a true delight. I would also like to thank Francis P. McManamon,
D wight Pitcaithly, Myra Harrison and the entire staff of the Lowell National Historical Park
for their unflagging support for the project. I hope our efforts have proved worthy of their
support.
Stephen A. Mrozowski
Boston, 1989
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Acknowledging everyone who has helped with the Boott Mills project is impossible because their number
is too great, but we would like to give credit to a number of people who were especially vital to our efforts. At
the National Park Service, Myra Harrison remained an enormous supporter despite our repeated delays in
completing this report, and Francis P. McManamon continued his support, albeit from a distance. Sandra
Walters and Sandra Corbett of the NPS North Atlantic Regional Office deserve special thanks, and Larry
Gall, Edward Hartley, and Mark Vargas of the Lowell National Historical Park have all been extremely helpful
to us. Walter Hickey of the Pollard Memorial Library in Lowell was especially helpful to Bond in her research,
and John Cheney and Daniel Finamore assisted with glass identifications and attributions. We'd also like to
acknowledge the invaluable assistance of William Sirull of the Massachusetts Department of Environmental
Quality Engineering, Division of Hazardous Waste; Steve Bodine at the Soil and Plant Tissue Testing
Laboratory; and Richard F. Fisher, Head, Forestry Department and Professor of Forest Soils, Utah State
University; and to the archivists at the Museum of American Textile History, North Andover, and the Society
for the Preservation of New England Antiquities, Boston.
We extend our thanks as well to the members of the Lowell Historical Preservation Commission; the
LHPC provided the funds for excavations at the Lowell Boardinghouse Park Site, for which we are extremely
grateful. Nancy S. Seasholes served as Project Archaeologist for the field work, and the field crew included
Ellen Berkland, Edward L. Bell, Lauren J. Cook, John Fox, William F. Fisher, Daniel Finamore, and Paul S.
Giblin. Boston University students who volunteered in the field included Jeannette Brown, Tony Dolan, Hatsy
Hornblower, Jacqueline Kurtz, Matt McDermott, Robin Mills, Matthew Packard, and Paulene Powers. Giblin
also served as field photographer for the project; darkroom work was done by Richard S. Kanaski and Michael
Hamilton, and Eliza McClennan of the Boston University Department of Geography produced the PMTs for
the report in record time, interrupting her summer vacation to do so. David Dutton produced the maps for
this report (in some cases adapting maps prepared earlier by Gerald Macomber), and Leslie A. Mead did the
marvelous artifact drawings. Kurt Faust of the NPS Eastern Archeological Field Laboratory, Cha "lestown,
Massachusetts, drew the figures that appear in Chapter 12, apart from three of the pollen diagrams drawn by
Leslie Mead..
This report simply would not have made it out of Beaudry's computer, where it seemed determine to
remain while feeding on endless revisions and editorial changes, if it had not been for the wonderful
production support of David Dutton and David Landon of Boston University, assisted by Allison Dwyer and
Nora Sheehan of the University of Massachusetts, Boston.
Although it does not figure into this report, we'd like to mention that we are grateful to Linda Towle of the
NPS Eastern Archeological Field Lab for her patient instruction, especially to Leslie Mead, in the complexities
of the Park Service Archeological Collections Management Project computer data entry system. We also
appreciate Larry Todd's help with Dbase III and the ACMP system, which has thus far proved wholly
incompatible with our SAS files.!
Technical support equipment for palynology was provided by National Science Foundation Grant BNS-
7924470. Anne Yentsch offered provocative insight into the meaning of the Lowell boardinghouse system.
Last, but certainly not least, Lillian Zabarsky, of the Boston University Office of Public Archaeology, deserves
thanks for her splendid work as bookkeeper.
Chapter 1
INTRODUCTION
by Mary C. Beaudry
This is the third and final volume in the series
of reports on the Boston University/National
Park Service cooperative, interdisciplinary study
of the Boott Mills in Lowell, Massachusetts. It
presents the results of documentary and
archeological research and analysis as well as
our interpretations of the evidence; the focus is
on boardinghouse keepers and boardinghouse
residents.
As our research and analysis proceeded, it
became increasingly clear that the
boardinghouses in Lowell were very much part
of a system and must be approached,
understood, and interpreted as such. The
boardinghouse system, engendered by the
policy of corporate paternalism, had a pervasive
influence on the lives of all those who lived in
corporate housing. It further influenced how
boardinghouse keepers ran their houses, local
businesses marketed their goods, and politicians
developed city ordinances and municipal policy.
Ultimately it affected — and accounts for — the
nature of the archeological record of sites such
as the Boott Mills boardinghouse backlots.
The boardinghouse system may represent a
pattern for corporate housing, but it is a pattern
that differs as dramatically from private
boarding as it does from normal — if such a term
can ever be used with accuracy — domestic
arrangements (i.e., nuclear families). The Lowell
boardinghouse system fostered a way of life that
contrasted starkly with life in rural America, but
it was a way of life that became common in
industrial cities as the 19th century progressed.
That the Lowell system was effective in
meeting managerial goals is evident in the fact
that, with minor modifications, it was widely
adopted throughout New England (see Clancey,
this volume). This "system" was a bounded
arena which, despite its seeming rigidity, left
openings for workers to operate creatively.
Workers found room for individual choice and
self-expression where they could, inventing and
constructing a working-class culture in
contradistinction to middle-class mores and
lifestyles. Oftentimes it is from the residues of
daily existence — in the artifacts of everyday life
and leisure — that we recover evidence of such
adaptation and self-expression. Hence there are
two themes throughout this volume: the
boardinghouse system and its effects, direct or
otherwise, on workers' lives; and workers'
response to the conditions engendered by the
system. Both perspectives are essential to a full
comprehension of how the boardinghouse
system truly became a way of life.
Theoretical Perspective
Our research for the Boott Mills project has
been characterized by integrated,
interdisciplinary archeology with an interpretive
analytical approach. We have sought to provide
a detailed, contextual examination of selected
Boott Mills housing units as the basis for offering
broader observations about life in urban-
industrial communities. Our definition of
context includes cultural/historical context as
well as environmental context. This involves
consideration of peoples' attitudes and beliefs in
addition to their actions. It goes without saying
that documentary analysis (in addition and in
distinction to 'historical research') is integral to
such a study, and we contend that it is in fact a
vital element in all historical archeological
research.
Interpretive approaches in anthropology are
characterized by attention to belief systems or
world views and by a concern for meaning within
its cultural and historical contexts; culture is
seen as meaningfully constituted, cultural facts
as observations subject to multiple
interpretations (cf. Geertz 1973; Leach 1982;
Taylor 1979; Yentsch n.d.a, n.d.b, 1988a, 1988b,
1988c, 1989; Yentsch et al. 1987). Yentsch (n.d.a:
7) notes that in interpretive studies
The focus is on historical moments and repetitive
events that convey information about a specific
culture. The emphasis is on small-scaled and
detailed examinations of specific, varied
expressions of cultural meaning, on a small range of
human activity that tells of ordinary social action,
on the day-to-day behavior that in its
particularity and complex texture reveals the
meaning that gave form to peoples' lives in a given
time and place.
Attention to historical and cultural context
allows human beings an active role in creating
meaning and in shaping the world around them;
they are seen to interact with their environment
rather than simply react to it. Material culture is
viewed as a medium of communication and
2 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
expression that can condition and at times
control social action.
An interpretive approach in historical
archeology seeks to examine a site from as many
aspects as possible; Yentsch (n.d.a: 7) offers the
analogy of an optical prism, which captures and
refracts a continuous spectrum of light,
permitting analysis of its constituents. Study of
minute details of a site from a variety of
perspectives builds both toward total,
comprehensive description and toward
interpretation of meaning. In this way one is
able to construct a balanced and holistic picture
of a site.
Our investigations of the Boott Mills has both
adopted and adapted the approach outlined
above. We have labeled our approach
"contextual," citing Hodder's (1987a, 1987b)
definition of context as cultural and historical
while drawing heavily on Butzer's (1980, 1982)
notion of ecological context. The first sort of
context is constructed through extensive,
detailed documentary research involving as
broad a range of sources as possible (e.g.,
primary and secondary documents, oral history,
surviving artifacts and buildings, etc.), the
second through our interdisciplinary studies of
the archeological record aimed at recovering
environmental as well as more obvious sorts of
archeological data. Integrating the two notions
of context has led us away from ecological
functionalism and has given us insight into
Lowell's evolving urban landscape as both a
cultural and natural phenomenon. It also has
suggested how to go about interpreting it in light
of the meaning it held for its inhabitants and the
effects it had on their daily lives.
We contend that exploration of peoples'
attitudes toward the world around them is an
integral part of the recovery of meaning as well
as of explanation of the archeological record.
Historical archeologists have the means at hand
to inject into their etic, objective studies of the
past an emic, culturally sensitive perspective;
interpretive analysis, with its concern for
meaning and for folk classification and
perception, offers a framework for textual
analysis aimed at recovering folk meaning. It
does so by taking an analytical and ethnographic
approach to documents, an approach labeled
variously "historical ethnography" (cf. Yentsch
1975; Schuyler 1988) and "documentary
archaeology" (cf. Beaudry 1988).
In essence, what we seek is the "full and
inclusive context" Taylor indicated should be
our primary interest (Taylor 1967: 32). As
Schmidt and Mrozowski note (1983: 146), "the
construction of cultural context is the way in
which cultural meaning may be added to
archeology and to any patterns that may be
deduced from archeological evidence." We
have attempted in our documentary research to
establish such a cultural context, believing that
we must carefully research different historical
documents and the literature of history to derive
constructs that can be synthesized to build a
complex cultural context for our archaeological
excavation, be it a shipwreck, an Iron Age factory
site in Tanzania, or a colonial privy ... If we fail
to do this, then we overlook cultural contexts that
tell us most about behavior (Schmidt and
Mrozowski 1983: 147).
Despite criticism by nay-sayers such as Leone
(1988a) and Leone and Potter (1988a: 14-18), this
sort of approach does not confuse the
documentary record with the ethnographic
record or render it equivalent to it; rather, it
permits a critical, interpretive, and culturally
sensitive approach to historical documents with
the aim of avoiding over-objectification of its
subject matter. And while some perhaps are
tempted to extend to such an approach the
dismissive label 'eclecticism' (e.g., Orser 1988:
314-315), it can be said in its favor that an
interpretive approach, because it is receptive to
differing perspectives, manages to avoid the
pitfalls of the doctrinaire application of modern
liberal political thought inherent in what Orser
and others propose as a more "unified" (rigid?)
theoretical perspective (i.e., marxism, critical
theory, etc.).
Research Framework
Our expectation was that the research design
developed for the Lowell Boott Mills Study would
serve as the vehicle for a truly comprehensive
interdisciplinary approach to historical
archeology. Our aim was to go beyond the
limited use of documentary sources and
materials and environmental analysis common
in the discipline. Our goal was to exploit as wide
a range of analytical techniques as possible,
including them as integral elements of the
project. In our first report (Beaudry and
Mrozowski 1987a: 5), we contended that the end
product of a truly interdisciplinary project
should not be a collection of unrelated,
independently produced specialists' reports
(often tacked on as undigested appendices) but
rather a comprehensive report of closely related
research efforts focused on common goals. We
sought to develop sampling strategies best
suited to the recovery of information relevant to
the overall project goals, and we delineated the
contributions that each analytical or research
Introduction 3
procedure could make to these overall goals,
taking into consideration the interrelationships
among the different specialties.
As we went along, we learned from our
mistakes and omissions, refining our sampling
designs and methods of analysis. As a result, in
addition to what they can offer in the way of
insight into the Boott Mills of Lowell, members
of the project team have developed and applied
new techniques and approaches that constitute
significant contributions to the archeologist's
repertoire and have applicability beyond the
present project.
To guide our research and analysis, we
identified a series of problem orientations and
research issues we hoped to explore, delineating
a number of subareas falling under the general
headings of residential and industrial issues.
The notion was that each of these could be
addressed through archeological data in
combination with documentary evidence, oral
histories, and material culture research. In most
areas, we have been successful beyond our
greatest hopes, but in certain areas we have
fallen short of our expectations. What follows is
a brief review of the issues we hoped to explore
along with a preliminary evaluation of the
relative success of our efforts.
Residential Problem Focus
The first subarea we identified within the
residential problem focus was architecture. The
built environment of Lowell, especially workers'
housing, represented at once corporate
investment in providing for and controlling the
work force as well as the arenas for workers'
private lives and leisure activities. To provide a
basis for understanding the Boott housing from
both perspectives, Gregory Clancey (1987a)
investigated the architectural history of the
Boott Mills boardinghouse blocks, reviewing
differences between housing for operatives and
supervisors and delineating changes in the
housing over time. The latter aspect of the
architectural history proved especially useful in
developing a program of archeological
investigation at the boardinghouse site.
At the outset we knew far less, however, about
the internal arrangement of workers' living
quarters and about the use of enclosed yard
areas immediately behind the workers' housing.
The archeology, as well as much of the
documentary research for this project, have
been aimed at shedding light on these issues.
At the outset, we also knew very little about the
nature and quality of the material life and diet of
mill workers. Our study of the Boott Mills
boardinghouses has focused to a considerable
degree on the topic of foodways. Our interest
was in the entire foodways system, including
types and quantities of foodstuffs, food purchase
and procurement, food preparation, dining
habits, and possible social and ethnic variation
in dietary patterns (Landon 1987a, b). We have
been able to compare workers' foodways with
those of mill supervisory personnel, using
deposits from the Kirk Street Agents' House
(Landon 1987b; Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987b).
The analysis of material culture relates to the
study of consumer behavior among workers,
supervisors, and, most pointedly, boardinghouse
keepers. This fact helps to underscore the
effects of the policy of corporate paternalism on
the lives of mill workers, because boardinghouse
residents owned only their own clothing and
personal effects; they were not in control of
many other aspects of their everyday material
lives. The environment in which they lived and
worked was created and controlled by others; the
boardinghouse keepers, who like the mill owners
were engaged in a profit-making enterprise,
exercised control over the domestic
environment. Workers were not directly
involved in the choice of the furnishings of their
surroundings, of the food they ate, and even of
the sorts of dishes, glassware, and cutlery with
which they ate and from which they drank. Thus
the early decades of Lowell present us with a
truly corporate pattern of consumption and
lifestyle. (Our rationale for viewing
boardinghouses as corporate households is
offered in Chapter 5.)
Matters of health and hygiene, including
waste and water management facilities, have
formed part of our study of the Boott
boardinghouses because we feel that these
reflect, perhaps far more truthfully than stated
company policy, a corporate ideology that
sought to control workers' lives without taking
ultimate responsibility for them (e.g., Bell 1987a;
Mrozowski et al. 1989). As it turns out and as will
become clear throughout this report, these
concerns are linked to almost every aspect of our
study and perhaps form its strongest common
theme.
We noted that space becomes a commodity
in urban contexts, its use — as well as its
creation — reflecting the evolution and growth of
a city. Urban land use has increasingly occupied
the attention of urban and industrial historians
(e.g., Hershberg 1981: 3-35; Hohenberg and Lees
1985: 290-330; Lampard 1985: 194-249, 1983: 3-53;
Davison 1983: 349-370: Warner 1962). We have
considered the built environment of the Boott
Mills and its housing as reflective of corporate
4 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
ideology and corporate response to changing
technology and fluctuating profitability. Several
aspects of our research coalesced in an analysis
of the evolution of the urban, industrial
landscape in Lowell (e.g., Beaudry 1987, 1989;
Fisher and Kelso 1987; Mrozowski and Beaudry
1989). In this volume, we turn to a close
examination of the use of boardinghouse
backlots and offer interpretations of how those
spaces served the needs of boardinghouse and
tenement residents.
that working class leisure behavior must be
studied from a vantage point that considers both
work and non-work time. Industrial ecology and
the ideology of industrial capitalism reached
well beyond the workplace and affected the non-
working hours of those who lived in mill housing;
our research has brought to light many
examples of just how pervasive the influences of
conditions in the workplace and the policy of
corporate paternalism were in workers' lives.
Industrial Problem Focus
Our plan to examine of the industrial complex
that comprised the Boott Mill Corporation from
both documentary and archeological
perspectives, intended to contribute to an
overall understanding of corporate attitudes
toward labor, production, and technology, has
not come about. This in large measure is
because we could not hope to surpass Mahlstadt
and George's fine work conducted during recent
renovations to Boott Mill #6 (Mahlstadt and
George 1988). Their report reveals that
archeological evidence of changes over time in
the physical layout of the millyard survive, albeit
often in highly mutilated form, and can
contribute to our knowledge of the changing
appearance of the millyard. Alterations to the
millyard landscape (revealed, e.g., by features
such as curbing and evidence for earlier grade
levels), in addition to architectural changes of
the mills themselves, came about in direct
response to technological innovations that
increased production and hence profits for
corporate stockholders (cf. Gross 1988; Gross and
Wright 1985). It is clear that such modifications
to the work environment served also to alter the
relationship between workers and machines.
This relationship, and the nature of the work
environment (temperature, humidity, noise,
toxicity) as a whole, has been termed industrial
ecology. "Changes wrought in the material
environment of production" must be carefully
delineated in order to provide a "comprehensive
picture of the daily routines" that workers
performed. Hence, an industrial ecological
approach aims to "merge an account of the
worker's tasks with description of a particular
workplace and its equipment" (Lcary 1979: 178).
Although our proposed excavations in the
millyard did not come about, we have remained
alert to what Gareth Stcdman Jones points to as
the primacy of work: "the social relations within
which it is carried on, in the determination of
class position and in the articulation of class
attitudes" (Jones 1977: 170). Jones further notes
The Present Volume
In the 12 chapters that follow, aspects of the
boardinghouse system in Lowell are examined
from a variety of perspectives and at differing
scales, ranging from tiny sherds and microscopic
pollen grains to entire structures and to the
urban environment as a whole. The
corporation's point of view as well as worker
response to it are considered, through
documentary analysis and through detailed
analysis and interpretation of boardinghouse
material culture. Archeological methods and
sampling techniques are discussed as well.
Although much of the raw data appear in tables
throughout the text, certain classes of
information are merely referenced in the text
and appear in full as appendices on microfiche.
These are the Boott correspondence (Appendix
A), the ceramic vessel count (Appendix B), the
catalog of faunal remains (Appendix C), the
results of soil chemistry analysis, and the artifact
catalog (Appendix E).
In Chapter 2, Gregory K. Clancey broadens his
earlier investigation of Boott housing by tracing
the evolution of the Boott boardinghouse plan
and its spread beyond the city of Lowell. Of
special relevance to the present study is
Clancey's discussion of the technological
limitations imposed on residents of a Boott-type
boardinghouse by the very nature of its
floorplan, internal arrangement of space, and
provisions for access and egress, cooking,
heating and lighting, and so forth.
Chapter 3, by Kathleen H. Bond, offers an
analysis of a series of letters drawn from a late
19th-century Boott Mills company
correspondence book. Bond uses these letters,
written on behalf of the company to mill
operatives and boardinghouse keepers, to
examine company policy and attitudes toward
workers. She is able to demonstrate through
these revealing documents the extent to which
the corporations continued their attempts to
control worker behavior away from the
workplace long after the policy of corporate
paternalism lost its initial vigor.
Introduction 5
The focus shifts from company-worker
relations to boardinghouse keepers in Chapter 4,
by David B. Landon. Here Landon explores the
link between the 19th-century concept of
domestic ideology and boardinghouse keeping
as suitable woman's work and discusses exactly
what services keepers were expected to provide
their boarders. He further investigates how the
Lowell boardinghouse system provided an
economic environment particularly conducive to
making a profit as a boardinghouse keeper, and
by delineating the constraints of this economic
situation, provides the backdrop for interpreting
food-related remains recovered from the
boardinghouse yards.
Results of excavations in the Boott Mills
boardinghouse and tenement backlots are
presented in Chapter 5, by Mary C. Beaudry and
Stephen A. Mrozowski. Beaudry and Mrozowski
attempt to place the Lowell excavations in the
context of the archeology of urban houselots in
general and of boardinghouse living in
particular. The notion that this is 'household
archeology with a difference' is based on the
authors' model of the boardinghouse as a
corporate household. This model forms the
basis for interpreting both the archeological
remains and the artifacts recovered from the
backlots.
The first category of material culture to be
examined in detail is ceramics. Chapter 6, by
David H. Dutton, presents the results of the
analysis of the ceramic assemblage from the site
as well as a descriptive catalog of makers' marks.
The ceramic study points to subtle differences in
ceramic purchase and use by members of
corporate (boardinghouse) versus nuclear
(tenement) households. Dutton is able to make
such fine-grained distinctions because he
applies a wide variety of analytical techniques
(e.g., vessel counts, economic scaling, decorative
analysis, etc.) to his material. The results serve
to demonstrate anew just how sensitive ceramics
can be, not only as indicators of status and class
as well as of variation within social groups, but
also as reflections of peoples' aspirations and
notions of proper behavior (cf. Beaudry 1984a;
Bograd 1989; Herman 1982; Stone 1988).
In Chapter 7, Kathleen H. Bond provides an
interpretive analysis of the bottle glass from the
Boott backlots. She is able to show that,
although in large measure selection of
medicinal and beverage products by workers
tended to be governed by a need to economize,
other factors, possibly including deliberate
flauting of company rules, played a significant
role in the purchase and disposal of beverage
alcohol containers.
Grace H. Ziesing's analysis of personal effects
from the backlot deposits, Chapter 8, provides
interesting insight into items such as buttons,
clothing fasteners, costume jewelry, hair combs,
etc., both in terms of production technology (and
hence date of production) as well as in
behavioral terms. This material, perhaps
moreso than any other category of artifact
recovered from the site, can in part be directly
attributed to women in terms of selection, use,
and, presumably, discard, and Ziesing offers
limited interpretations about this connection.
David B. Landon offers a comprehensive
analysis of the faunal assemblage from the
backlots in Chapter 9. He offers interpretations
about food-related issues, such as butchery
patterns and food preparation techniques, as
well as about taphonomic processes affecting
the assemblage — rodent activity in particular.
He is able to show that while certain features of
the assemblage speak to issues germane to
boardinghouse foodways, in many regards they
can also be seen as reflective of urban faunal
deposits in general.
Chapter 10, by Lauren J. Cook, is a descriptive
catalog of the tobacco-related material culture
from the backlots. In Chapter 11, Cook uses this
material as the springboard for a discussion of
the symbolic aspects of smoking behavior and of
the role it plays in the construction of working
class culture.
In Chapter 12, Gerald K. Kelso, William F.
Fisher, Stephen A. Mrozowski, and Karl J.
Reinhard provide a series of reports on the
environmental analyses performed on the site
matrices: pollen, soil chemistry, macrofossil,
parasitological, and phytolith analysis. These
are summarized and synthesized to provide a
comprehensive interpretation of formation
processes, natural and cultural, and the
archeological record of the site.
In the concluding chapter, Mrozowski and
Beaudry summarize the results of the project
and discuss the contributions the research has
made to our understanding of material life in the
context of the boardinghouse system.
6 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Chapter 2
THE ORIGIN OF THE BOOTT BOARDINGHOUSE PLAN
AND ITS FATE AFTER 1836
by Gregory K. Clancey
Introduction
The aim of this chapter is to locate the Boott
boardinghouses within the architectural history
of corporation housing in the "Waltham
system" towns (cf. Candee 1981, 1985). The
objective is not to present a general survey of
corporation housing, but to trace the evolution of
the particular configuration of the original Boott
blocks. Recognizing that alternatives to the
Boott configuration existed within the Waltham
system, it nonetheless appears that the design of
boardinghouse blocks (i.e., the grouping of units,
the elevations, and the floor plans of units) was
standardized by Lowell's Proprietors of Locks
and Canals in the late 1820s and applied to all
mill-building campaigns in Lowell throughout
the late 1830s. Elements of this standardized
design continued to appear in textile corporation
housing in Lowell and elsewhere at least as late
as the 1850s.
Origin of the Plan
The earliest corporation houses built in Lowell
were 21/2 story duplexes erected by 1825 for the
Merrimack Corporation and the Lowell Machine
Shop (Figure 2-1). These were detached from
one another, and each had its own ell. A Locks
and Canals plan of January, 1824, shows that the
same scheme of multiple duplexes was intended
to service the as-yet unbuilt Hamilton and
Appleton Mills. A map of the following year,
however, illustrates two long boardinghouse
blocks on land of the Hamilton Corporation,
whose mills were then under construction.
Another Locks and Canals plan, of January, 1826,
projects the site of the future Lawrence,
Tremont, and Suffolk mills as filled with long
boardinghouse blocks.
In Mill and Mansion, author John Coolidge
(1942: 33-39) includes a photograph of a
Merrimack Corporation 2 1/2 story brick block
on Dutton Street that he dates to ca. 1825. This
block is illustrated on Mather's 1832 Lowell map,
which also depicts two potential mates on
Worthen Street (Figure 2-2). A much longer
one-story brick block was also constructed on
Prince Street by the Merrimack Corporation in
1827 (Candee 1985: 38; Coolidge 1942: 33-39;
Figure 2-3). The Dutton Street block contained
four units under a simple pitched roof. Each unit
was three bays wide, and the block was arranged
so that the kitchens and parlors of each pair
could abut and thus be serviced by common
chimney stacks. When the builders planned the
rows, economy in chimney stacks rather than
aesthetics determined on which side of each unit
the front hall was to be located and hence where
the front door would occur on the faqade.
Thus by 1825, Locks and Canals had clearly
rejected the duplex in favor of the block or row.
This renovation was to be expected, as economy
was a major corporate concern. A block was
cheaper to build than duplexes, as it required
only one foundation, fewer walls and chimneys,
and fewer windows. It also occupied less land
and presumably required less fuel in the winter
because of the shared chimney stacks and party
walls. The only disadvantages were perhaps
aesthetic, but the corporations did have the
precedent of the urban row-house. Perhaps
more significantly, the brick college dormitory of
the type found at Harvard, to which the
perfected Lowell boardinghouse block bore a
strong resemblance, provided a precedent with
overtones of cloistered, academic lifestyles
(Figure 2-4).
While the Merrimack's Dutton Street block
was 2 1/2 stories tall, the five blocks erected by
the Hamilton Corporation from ca. 1825 onward
was more ambitious. A ca. 1912 photograph by
George Kenngott of the now-demolished
Webster Street block shows a 3 1/2 story brick
building with six boardinghouse units and single
tenements at either end (Kenngott 1912: fig. 24)).
The dormers shown in the photograph are 20th-
century additions. These blocks were probably
the first in Lowell of this height and length, which
would henceforth be standard. Unlike later
examples, however, the Hamilton blocks had 2
1/2 stories end tenements slightly narrower in
width and with different floor-to-ceiling heights
than the central boardinghouse sections. The
tenements also had exposed granite foundation
trim, while the boardinghouses were all brick
8 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Figure 2-1. Detail of 1825 Lowell map showing duplexes belonging to the Merrimack
Company. From "A Plan of the Land and Buildings belonging to the Merrimack
Manufacturing Company..." made in 1825 by Geo. R. Baldwin. (Courtesy of the Lowell
National Historical Park.)
above grade. These changes in articulation
reflected not only different uses but differences
in worker status between the occupants of the
boardinghouses and tenements.
Evolution and Adaptation
The concept of the 3 1/2 story brick block may
not have originated in Lowell. Between 1824 and
1826, five 3 1/2 story brick blocks of four
boardinghouses each were constructed in Great
Falls, later Somersworth, New Hampshire
(Candee 1985: 39). These blocks were serviced
by a continuous, detached one-story shed
behind their rear yards, a characteristic of Lowell
and later Waltham system boardinghouses.
They differed markedly from the Lowell blocks
in certain elevation details, however, and based
upon their fenestration pattern, some aspects of
their floor plan must have differed as well. More
research would be needed to determine the
exact chronological relationship between these
blocks and those at Lowell, or the possibility of
direct influences.
The Lowell boardinghouse block only reached
its mature form with the construction of the
three Appleton Corporation blocks of ca. 1828.
Like the Hamilton blocks, those of the Appleton
each contained six 3 1/2 story boardinghouses
three bays wide, whose party walls were topped
by joined chimney stacks. The Appleton end
tenements, however, were doubled, pushed up
to 3 1/2 stories, and otherwise made to appear
integral with the rest of the block. They also had
a series of small dormers along the roof and full
double-hung sash windows in the gable ends of
the attic. The Hamilton block lacked this later
feature and may have lacked the former,
judging from the early 20th-century dormers
that appear in the Kenngott photograph. This
Appleton boardinghouse configuration, with
such slight modifications as the depth of the end
tenements, the number of boardinghouses to a
block, and the number and placement of
dormers, would henceforth serve Locks and
Canals as a standard model, up to and including
construction of the Boott and Massachusetts
complexes to the later 1830s. Boardinghouses
with the Appleton's characteristic massing and
elevations will hereafter be referred to as being
of the "Appleton type."
As only two sets of plans survive for Appleton-
type boardinghouses, those of the Suffolk (ca.
1833) and Boott Corporations (Figures 2-5, 2-6),
it is not known whether the type was further
defined by a single floor plan and what relation
this plan had to the earlier Hamilton and
Merrimack blocks. The fact that the Suffolk and
Boott plans are virtually identical, however, is
strong evidence that Locks and Canals had a
common plan to accompany their common
elevation drawings. The only elevations of an
Appleton-type set of blocks that clearly suggest
modification of the Suffolk/Boott plan are those
The Boott Boardinghouse Plan 9
II. Lowell and Belvidere Village - 1832 - by Benjamin Mather
Collection of the Lowell Historical Society
Figure 2-2. 1832 map of Lowell depicting brick boardinghouse blocks built by the
Merrimack Corporation along Dutton Street. (Courtesy of the Lowell Historical
Society.)
10 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 2-3. John Coolidge photograph of a later Merrimack Company brick housing
block on the east side of Prince Street. (Courtesy of the Museum of American Textile
History.)
The Boott Boardinghouse Plan 11
Figure 2^4. John Coolidge photograph of Harvard Yard. Mill housing was at times
compared favorably to academic dormitories. (Courtesy of the Museum of American
Textile History.)
12 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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The Boott Boardinghouse Plan 13
of the four Lawrence Corporation blocks of ca.
1833, whose tenements are four bays deep
instead of three (Figure 2-7).
A comparison of the plans of the Suffolk and
Boott blocks reveals that the only significant
difference is in the location of the first-floor
doorways within the boardinghouses. The
Suffolk plan has both the front parlor and back
room accessible only from the kitchen. The
advantage of this plan, presumably, is that no
first-floor traffic escapes the gaze of whoever is
in the kitchen. Apparently the inconvenience of
this circulation pattern outweighed the
advantage, however, for the later Boott plan links
each adjacent space, in the manner of a typical
house plan.
An interesting feature of the Boott/Suffolk
plan is the asymmetry of the end units. The unit
abutting the yard on each end is clearly favored.
The front hall of the yard unit opens to both the
front parlor and the kitchen behind. In the
street-facing unit, the visitor must enter and
cross the kitchen to get to the small, ill-lit parlor.
While the yard units have fireplaces in both
rooms on every story, the street-facing units lack
fireplaces in the parlor and parlor chambers, the
only rooms in the entire block deprived of a heat
source. These street-facing units are also cut off
from the back yards and sheds and lack the
closets of their neighbors. While certain of
these disparities, such as yard access, could not
easily have been avoided, the lack of a second
chimney in the street-facing units is not so
quickly explained. It appears that initially, at
least, the less comfortable units were rented to
single males rather than to families (cf.
demographic data presented in Bond 1987:
Appendix B).
The Suffolk plan makes it clear that ells were
not intended to be built behind any of these
units. A small ground plan in the corner shows a
continuous 12-ft-wide shed separated from the
main block by 29 1/2-ft-long yards, the breadth
of each boardinghouse. The body of
cartographic, plan, and photographic evidence
indicates that ells were not normally part of the
original plans of Lowell boardinghouses. When
John Coolidge photographed the rears of the five
brick blocks in Somersworth in the early 20th
century, continuous sheds were clearly visible,
but the blocks still lacked ells (Coolidge
Photograph Collection, Museum of American
Textile History, nos. 382-386). The earliest
boardinghouse plans that show ells as an
integral feature are probably those of the
Amoskeag Corporation blocks in Manchester,
New Hampshire (Figures 2-8 and 2-9), which
date from 1839. The Bay State Corporation
blocks of 1845-46 in Lawrence were also built
with ells (Coolidge 1942: fig. 47). In Lowell,
however, it is probable that most boardinghouse
ells were not added until after the Civil War.
The 1876 Lowell bird's-eye view shows most
blocks still lacking them, although they are
clearly illustrated on the 1884 drawing of the
Appleton blocks and the long one-story ells of
the Boott blocks, further supports the theory that
the ells were later additions.
The Massachusetts Corporation Mill blocks of
ca. 1839 were probably the last corporation
boardinghouses in Lowell erected on the model
of the Appleton blocks and likely followed the
Suffolk/Boott plan. As one of the Massachusetts
blocks still survives on Bridge Street, it would be
worthwhile to investigate its floor plan. In
elevation it is identical to the Boott blocks,
except that its dormers are spaced differently.
Heavy 20th-century alteration of the first floor
exterior has obscured the original location of
doorways. The two blocks between Bridge and
George Streets and one block along Merrimack
Street were the only Massachusetts blocks as
long as those of the Boott. The six remaining
blocks illustrated in the 1879 City Atlas, some of
which may be later than 1839, each include six
units, including doubled tenements at their ends
(Richards 1879).
After 1840, Lock and Canals shifted from the
building of Appleton-type boardinghouse blocks
to the construction of blocks of overseers'
tenements. Certain of these overseers' blocks
shared characteristics of the earlier
boardinghouses (e.g., a height of 3 1/2 stories, 3-
bayed units, the kitchens and parlors of two units
abutting, etc.), but there were significant
differences as well. First, the overseers' blocks
consisted entirely of tenements, and there was
thus no need for end units. They also had higher
floor-to-ceiling heights than the earlier blocks,
reflecting a general architectural trend that
existed until the middle of the 19th century.
Their attic stories were invariably serviced by
more dormers than had occurred on the
boardinghouses; further, these tenements were
usually built with integral brick ells of one or two
stories. The "New Block" of the Merrimack
Corporation on Dutton Street, constructed ca.
1850-55, and the Boott overseers' block of ca.
1850-55 are good illustrations of this type (Figure
2 — 10; see also Kengott 1912: fig. 23). The former
was particularly unique for its great length.
Nonetheless, surviving drawings of the Lawrence
Corporation overseers' block of March 1845,
show it to have had a slightly modified
Suffolk/Boott floor plan, the only differences
being the elimination of the two first-floor
14 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Figure 2-6. Floor plans of Boott boardinghouse, 1836. (Locks and Canals Collection.
Courtesy Lowell Historical Society and University of Lowell Special Collections.)
The Boott Boardinghouse Plan 15
Figure 2-7. John Coolidge photograph of "New Block" of Merrimack Company
housing, built ca. 1845. (Courtesy of the Museum of American Textile History.)
16 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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The Boott Boardinghouse Plan 17
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Figure 2-9. Middle units, Amoskeag block nos. 2, 4, 5, 6, 10, 15, 16, 17, first and upper
stories (2). The end units were identical to those shown in Figure 2-8, but the number of
middle units per block varied. Not to scale. (Copied by Gregory K. Clancey from plans
at the Manchester Historical Society. Redrawn by David H. Dutton.)
18 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 2-10. John Coolidge photograph of Overseer's Block, Boott Mills Corporation.
(Courtesy of the Museum of American Textile History.)
The Boott Boardinghouse Plan 19
PLANS OF THE BOARDINC HOUSES BELONCINC TO
THE BAY STATE MILLS IN LAWRENCE.
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Figure 2-11. Elevation and plans of Bay State Mills boardinghouse, Lawrence,
Massachusetts. (Reproduced from Shattuck 1850.)
20 The Board inghouse System as a Way of Life
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Figure 2-12. Essex Company Machine Shop blocks, Lawrence, Massachusetts, ca. 1847;
first story of 2 1 /2 stories. Fifty units were constructed, in rows of 61-17 units each. Not to
scale. (Copied by Gregory K. Clancey from plans at the Manchester Historical Society.
Redrawn by David H. Dutton.)
closets, as well as some changes in the
dimensions of rooms. This block (or blocks) was
not designed with ells and was only 21/2 stories
tall, so the similarity of its floor plan to that of
other overseers' blocks is open to question.
Brick boardinghouse blocks of 3 1/2 stories
were also constructed in most of the other
Waltham system towns. The example of Great
Falls (Somersworth), New Hampshire, has
already been cited. In no instance, however, was
the Appleton-type boardinghouse copied in all
its details. Perhaps the closest relatives of the
Appleton-type blocks beyond Lowell were
certain of the blocks erected by the Amoskeag
Corporation in Manchester, New Hampshire,
beginning in 1839 (Figures 2-5, 2-6). Amoskeag
blocks no. 1-6, 10, and 15-17, the last of which
were erected by 1848, all have the distinctive
massing and elevations of the Appleton type.
The first four blocks, however, have only one
boardinghouse unit sandwiched between four
end tenements, and the extreme hilliness of the
Amoskeag site dictated that the units be
dramatically stepped. The interiors show a great
deal of modification. Blocks no. 1 and 3 (both
1839-40) reject the Suffolk/Boott plan for an
entirely new arrangement. The middle unit is
actually three separate apartments, one to each
floor. The end tenements also have floor plans
which correct some of the disadvantages
inherent in the Suffolk/Boott plan. The street-
facing unit now has a corridor connection to the
back yard, and the yard unit, to compensate for
the loss of space occasioned by this corridor, now
enjoys a small ell. Both units have generous
closets. Although the end tenements still
preserve certain differences, their livability is
more nearly equal.
In the other eight Amoskeag blocks, the
Suffolk/Boott floor plan was reintroduced for the
boardinghouse units, with only slight
modifications on the upper stories. In all cases,
however, the Suffolk/Boott plan for the end
tenements was abandoned in favor of that of
blocks no. 1 and 3. As Amoskeag had faithfully
adopted the design of the Lowell mills and even
the Lowell City Hall for Manchester, so too did it
adopt the Lowell boardinghouse design, but not
without correcting what it perceived to be
Lowell's mistakes.
The counterpart of Locks and Canals in
Lawrence, the Essex Company, was apparently
less enthusiastic about copying or modifying
Lowell models. Surviving plans for the Atlantic
Corporation boardinghouses of 1846 (one of the
first two sets of boardinghouse blocks in
Lawrence, see L. A. Williamson, "Plan of the
Boarding Houses Built for the Atlantic Cotton
Mills in 1846, Nos. 7 & 8"), as well as two extant
units of an Atlantic block which survive with their
interiors intact, show that the idea of doubled
end tenements was abandoned in Lawrence.
The end units of the Atlantic blocks, facing the
street like the intermediate units, copy the
Suffolk/Boott boardinghouse floor plan, except
that they include kitchen ells. These end units
probably functioned as tenements rather than
as boardinghouses. The middle units of the row,
however, present an entirely different floor plan,
four bays wide instead of three, and are far more
spacious than those of the end units. The blocks
of Lawrence's other original corporation, the Bay
The Boott Boardinghouse Plan 21
State (1846-47), appear to follow an identical
scheme, according to a contemporary plan of
one such block (Figure 2-11). These Lawrence
blocks also abandoned the "dutch" or joined
chimneys so characteristic of Lowell.
The 2 1/2-story brick tenement rows that the
Essex Company erected for the Lawrence
Machine Shop in ca. 1847, perhaps taking their
cue from the 21/2 story blocks Locks and Canals
had just erected for the Lawrence Corporation
overseers in Lowell, preserve the Suffolk/Boott
floor plan (Figure 2-12). The same floor plan was
again used for fourteen units of "First Class
Machine Shop Blocks" for the Lawrence
Machine Shop, which were erected sometime in
the 1850s and sold at auction in 1859 when the
machine shop failed. In this late manifestation
of the plan, the kitchen has been pushed entirely
into an ell, and what was the kitchen has become
the dining room, a change that occurs with
almost no alteration to the plan's features (Plans
No. 45-46: "First Class Machine Shop Blocks" in
Folder W12, No. 1, Everett Mills, Essex Company
Collection, Museum of American Textile
History).
Summary
Although plans for contemporary blocks in the
other Waltham-system towns have yet to be
discovered, it appears from ancillary evidence
that the standard boardinghouse configuration
of Lowell, represented by the Boott elevations
and floor plan, was carried only as far as
Amoskeag in Manchester, and even there met
with significant modification. The planning of
corporation housing underwent constant
development after 1840 both in and outside of
Lowell, as represented by the Locks and Canals
overseers' blocks, the Essex Company
boardinghouses, and even later boardinghouses
designed by the Essex Company for Lewiston,
Maine (Plan No. 41, Essex Company Collection,
Museum of American Textile History). The
Boott boardinghouse floor plan continued to
provide some service to corporation planners at
least into the 1850s.
22 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Chapter 3
"THAT WE MAY PURIFY OUR CORPORATION
BY DISCHARGING THE OFFENDERS": THE DOCUMENTARY RECORD
OF SOCIAL CONTROL AT THE BOOTT MILLS
by Kathleen H. Bond
Introduction
From the very beginning of industrial Lowell in
the 1820s and continuing into the 20th century,
the Lowell mill owners took myriad steps to
regulate workers' lives. In turn, workers
struggled to maintain control of their own lives.
Conflicts between the interests of workers and
those of management revolved around social,
political, and, most pointedly, economic issues.
The underlying tensions existed not only at the
Boott Mills and the other mills in Lowell, but
throughout the factory system as a whole
(Gutman 1975; Harvey 1976; Gross and Wright
1985; Johnson 1978).
A series of letters written by Boott
management to boardinghouse residents and
other documentary data provide evidence of
Boott management's attempts at social control
and help to outline the response by workers to
that attempt at control. Used alone, neither
documentary nor archeological evidence is
adequate to illumine fully the relationship
between workers and management. But woven
together, the strands, of which social control is
one thread, help to create a dense and complex
weave that present a clearer picture of life in the
boardinghouse as experienced by the workers.
The primary focus of this research is the mill's
attempt at social control during the post-Civil
War era, when a large number of immigrant
workers labored in the mills. A concentration on
the post-bellum years is in no way intended to
slight the importance of the earlier "mill girl" era
at the Lowell mills; the decision to focus on the
"immigrant" era of the Boott's history, however,
was made for three reasons. One, a portion of
the documentary evidence that dates to the end
of the 19th century — the letters in the Boott Mills
correspondence book (see below) — is texturally
very rich; the letters deserve to be examined in
detail. Two, much of the artifactual material
from the Boott boardinghouse backlots dates
after 1880. Three, some of the Boott Mills letters
in the correspondence book were written to
keepers and /or residents who lived in the units
that were investigated archeologically. Such a
direct connection between the archeology and
the documentary data permits a close
comparison between the beliefs inherent in the
documents with the behavior suggested by the
artifacts.
The Boott Mills' correspondence book is a
series of letters written by James G. Marshall,
paymaster for the Boott Mills between 1872 and
1906 (see Appendix A). The letters were written
on order of his superior, mill agent Alexander J.
Cumnock. Marshall not only signed his own
name but also included the phrase "per order
agent" at the bottom of the majority of letters.
The correspondence book in which the letters
are contained (in the University of Lowell Special
Collections) spans a relatively brief period (1888-
1891), so it is highly probable that the book is one
in a series compiled over the years. Most of the
letters in the more than 900 pages concern the
sale and transport of cotton, but 60 of them were
written to Boott boardinghouse keepers,
overseers, and mill workers.
Although there are other general 19th-century
descriptions of boardinghouse life in Lowell, the
Boott letters are unique documents. They
provide a rare documentary glimpse into the
daily lives of the Boott workers of 1890 (at least as
perceived by agent Cumnock). While
archeological investigations provide tangible
evidence of day-to-day behavior — more often
than not in the form of detritus or the seemingly
mundane — the documentary record rarely
yields similar data, particularly for working-class
individuals. The letters describe repairs to the
units, as well as water and sanitation systems in
use in the housing, details that are invaluable
aids to the archeological interpretation.
Cumnock accused workers of damaging mill
property or of alcohol use in the boardinghouses.
These behaviors, too, have material correlates in
the archeological record.
Equally as important, through the letters one
can begin to examine the conflict that existed
between the interests of mill owners and those of
mill workers. First, the letters help to illumine
the methods used by the mill workers to increase
the degree of decision making in their lives.
Second, they bring into focus the ways in which
management responded to and in fact played a
role in shaping mill workers' behavior.
23
24 The Boardinghouse System as A Way of Life
For the purposes of study, the correspondence
is divided into four categories: dismissals and
complaints; conversion of boardinghouses and
availability of housing; repairs to units and cost
of utilities; and a "catch-all" section with letters
that concern debts, wages, illness, and death of
employees (see Appendix A). These categories
are not mutually exclusive, as a number of the
letters address more than one issue.
The letters, particularly the "complaints," and
other documents — e.g., 19th-century accounts of
life in the mills, newspaper articles, Lowell City
Directory data — are used below to explore two
types of social control implemented by mill
management. First, management's attempts at
direct control of the workforce is discussed. The
system of paternalism during the "mill girl" era
is outlined briefly, and the form of direct control
used during the latter part of the century is
examined in more detail. Second, Boott
management's use of indirect methods to
control workers' lives is examined. These
methods include the mills' involvement in the
temperance movement in Lowell and its
influence on city policy regarding the sale and
consumption of alcohol.
Direct Control of the Workforce
Company Policy and New England-Born
Workers
From the 1820s onward, mill regulations
played a pivotal role in the plan of the Boston
Associates (the wealthy shareholders of all the
Lowell mills) for the development of the textile
industry in Lowell. The "lords of the loom"
(Cowley 1868: 90) initiated a formal, paternalistic
system of control. Although paternalism "can
become a spongy term, calling forth only
imagery of a fuzzy, vaguely friendly form of
domination" (Scranton 1984: 234), both its
purpose and quality were quite different.
Paternalism was at once an efficient means of
facilitating both for worker and employer a
cultural transition from pre-industrial, artisanal
production to the world of the mill and a method
to manipulate workers' behavior in the interest
of profit.
Out of necessity, the Boston Associates
provided for the physical needs of their
employees and proffered at least the trappings
for meeting their spiritual and emotional needs.
The mill owners provided company-run
boardinghouses, a church, and educational
opportunities. In doing so, the industrialists
tapped into what was for their purposes an ideal
workforce: young, New England-born women.
The "mill girls" were an unskilled, short-term
labor pool that could easily be replenished.
To counteract the public's fear that Lowell
would become a gloomy slum, inhabited by
degraded individuals — the contemporary image
of English industrial centers — the industrialists
assured the public that both the workers'
physical and moral well-being would be carefully
tended. The Boston Associates frequently took
the opportunity to publicize (e.g., Massachusetts
House of Representatives Docket #50 1845;
Miles 1846) that the workers' behavior would be
diligently supervised by mill room overseers —
men whose conduct the mill owners guaranteed
was above reproach — and by strict yet motherly
boardinghouse keepers.
The system closely regulated workers' waking
hours, both at work and during their time away
from the looms. Included in the list of
regulations were rules that required workers to
attend Sunday worship and to refrain from
alcohol use, and "immoral and indolent
persons" who disobeyed were subject to
immediate dismissal (Austin n.d.; Lawrence
1846). Moreover, unless special permission was
given, all workers were to live only in the
boardinghouses of the company by which they
were employed, and the units locked at ten
o'clock each night.
The long, parallel, rows of corporate housing in
themselves were designed to assuage the
public's initial distrust. As Coolidge points out
(1942: 34, 48), the buildings' faqades followed the
dictates of rural tradition and academic
propriety. The design of Lowell's mill housing of
the 1820s resembled contemporary rural
architecture, and the boardinghouses of the
1830s bore a striking resemblance to 18th-
century buildings, such as Harvard University's
Massachusetts Hall (cf. Figure 2-4). Further, the
mill yards were landscaped in an attempt to
soften the harshness of the industrial
environment (Beaudry 1989: 19-20; Beaudry and
Mrozowski 1988: 18).
The image of a faqade seems an appropriate
metaphor when applied to the system of
paternalism as initiated by the Boston
Associates. The faqades were key to conveying
an image of order and propriety, but it is
questionable whether the same degree of
concern extended to areas out of the public eye.
In workers' letters to home, descriptions of
boardinghouse life (Dublin 1981) were general in
nature. The reticence suggests that, while
"nothing to write home about," the housing was
either adequate, or, these particular women had
resigned themselves to the conditions. At least
two accounts asserted life in the housing was less
The Documentary Record of Social Control 25
than ideal — although these were written at a
time of labor unrest in the mills, and the authors
were not disinterested observers. Strikes
occurred over wages and conditions in the mills,
however, so there is probably truth to their
assertions. In 1845, one factory worker wrote
(Female Labor Reform Association 1845: 6) that
they were required to sleep in "small
comfortless, half ventilated" rooms and the price
of board would not "ensure to her the common
comforts of life." Another critic of conditions in
the mills maintained that not only were the
houses overcrowded, but they had inadequate
sanitation and were overrun with vermin
(Huntington 1843, cited in Coburn 1920: 259).
While it is simplistic to suggest that the mill
owners were motivated only by a desire for
profits — a complex set of of economic, social,
and political factors figured in the plan of the
Lowell mill owners (Dalzell 1987) — neither was
the faqade buttressed by an unselfish sense of
responsibility to meet workers' needs, let alone
desires. The owners wished to serve their own
interests, and they desired to control workers'
lives without taking concomitant responsibility
for these same lives. To do so, management
wove around the workers "a complex social
matrix so thorough that it left no significant
decision, day or night, to the workers" (Gross and
Wright 1985: 14).
Company Policy and Immigrant Workers
Beginning after 1840, the New England-born
mill women, protesting wage cuts and hours of
labor, began to leave the Lowell mills, to be
replaced by Irish immigrant workers; French
Canadians arrived after the Civil War, and
Eastern European workers after 1900. Not
surprisingly, management's control of the
workforce continued, still hidden behind the
faqade. "Strong and independent labor
continued to be seen as the enemy and a low-
skilled, transient, divided workforce the defense"
(Gross and Wright 1985: 21).
The quality of the control changed, however.
The desire to convey to the public that an
orderly, morally correct environment prevailed,
but, with the arrival of the immigrants and
increased economic pressures of textile
production, the formal structure of the mill
owners' paternalism faded. Any attempt at
"moral sheltering was dropped for the benefit of
increased output" (Scranton 1984: 245).
The Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of
Labor (MBSL) included in its 1882 report the
regulations for the corporations' tenements and
boardinghouses in Lowell (see Clancey, this
volume, for a discussion of the distinction
between tenements and boardinghouses). The
MBSL list is somewhat suspect because it is
generic; it may be a compilation of many
different sources. But the 1876 Massachusetts
Mill Regulations (cited in Kenngott 1912: 24) and
the 1886 Boston Globe interview cite similar
boardinghouse regulations.
The regulations for lease of the tenements
were as follows.
Rent at a fixed sum to be paid monthly, and, in
addition, the taxes assessed on the tenement to be
paid monthly sums to the lessor.
Tenant to keep the tenement in good order and
repair except ordinary wear and tear.
Tenement not to be sub-let without lessors' consent.
Tenements to be carefully used, subject to rules made
by the agent for their orderly management, among
which are: no rubbish to be put in privy vaults; no
hens or swine to be kept; snow and ice to be at once
removed from sidewalks; no locks to be put on or
changes made in tenements without permission; no
boarders to be kept except in specially designated
boarding houses.
Agents of lessor may enter the premises to make
repairs or to see that conditions of lease are
observed, and lessors retain full control over all
streets and ways on their land leading to tenements.
Either party must give the other at least ten days
notice of intention to terminate lease, except that
lessee may at once be expelled if he shall make any
strip or waste. After ten days notice, may be
expelled, and, if allowed to remain while lessor
seeks to recover possession by legal process, shall
remain as a tenant by sufferance, expressly waiving
any such right after the expiration of said ten days.
The MBSL asserted that the next seven
regulations pertained to the boardinghouses.
The following are not permitted without special
permission: underletting tenements; boarding
parties not in the employ of the company; boarding
males and females in the same house.
Tenants are not to permit their boarders to have
company at unseasonable hours. Doors must be
closed at ten o'clock each evening, and no person
admitted after that time without some reasonable
Buildings and yards must be kept clean and in good
order, and, if ignored, otherwise than from
ordinary use, will be repaired at the expense of the
occupant. Sidewalks must be kept free from snow
and ice.
The several companies have at great expense
provided a hospital for the benefit of those
connected with the mills.... Boarding house keepers
26 The Boardinghouse System as A Way of Life
are therefore required to report at the Company's
office all cases of sickness among the boarders...
The prices to be paid for board at the present are as
follows: Females per week, $1.85; Males, $2.90. By
board is meant, providing meals, doing the usual
washing, and furnishing lodging, and care of rooms.
Boarders are not required to perform chamber-work.
The furnishing of meals to persons employed by the
company is in some cases allowed; but this practice
must in no case be permitted to interfere with. ..good
treatment of the operatives.
When required, boarding house keepers must give
an account of number, names, and employment of
their boarders, of their general conduct, and
whether they habitually attend church or not.
As written, many of the housing rules of the
1880s were quite similar (while, perhaps, more
detailed) than those of the 1840s. In a step that
reflected the abandonment of moral sheltering,
however, three prominent rules were dropped
from the written regulations or not enforced.
Despite the assertion in the MBSL that
management wished to know whether workers
"habitually" attended church, Dublin (1979: 277)
notes that it "seems to have been enforced only
in the breach." In an 1886 Boston Globe
interview, a mill agent asserted that he
considered it "an important duty to attend
religious worship, and we let it [the regulation]
have what weight it may as friendly advice." No
doubt this attitude reflected in part the distrust
and fear of Catholicism that had greeted
immigrant workers and their "unAmerican,"
non-Protestant cultures.
The solid rows of brick boardinghouse must
have remained as highly visible reminders of the
"beneficent" policies of the mills, but, after the
immigrants began to stream into Lowell, the
regulation that all employees live in company
housing was rescinded. Funds were diverted
from housing costs and poured into mill
expansion; as the century progressed, the value
of the mill housing in Lowell continually
declined (Dublin 1979: 76).l In addition, while
many foreign-born workers preferred to live in
the ethnic enclaves in Lowell, at least initially,
immigrants were discriminated against and
denied access to the mills' boardinghouses
(Dublin 1979: 155).
Notable in its absence from the regulations
was the proscription against alcohol use; the
The Boott expended over $121,000 for construction of 8
rows of housing between 1835 and 1838. By 1898, 9 rows of
Boott housing were valued at just over $87,000
(Proprietors of Locks and Canals, cited in Center for
History Now 1983: 128-129).
implications of the omission are discussed
further below.
Following the Civil War, mill agents' power
increased (the agent was responsible for the day-
to-day operation of the mill). In 1864, William
Southworth, agent of the Lawrence
Manufacturing Company, stated that his job
required
a knowledge of my subordinates & their doings —
full acquaintance with the condition of things in
and about the mill & yard — the holding of all
employed to the faithful performance of their
duties & Constance care of the company's property
(quoted in Lubar 1983: 84).
Some years later, Southworth also maintained
that those workers who lived in company
housing felt "they were under a certain
espionage which was irksome" (n.d., quoted in
Center For History Now 1983: 26). The Boott
letters attest to the mill agent's knowledge of his
subordinates' "doings."
In the following discussion, quotations from
the Boott letters are used for illustration. Full
transcriptions appear in Appendix A; unless
otherwise noted, emphasis, indicated here by
italics, appears in the original document. Each
letter was assigned a number as it was
transcribed (letters appear in the letterbooks in
chronological order — they are dated but not
numbered); these arbitrary numbers are cited
herein to provide the reader with a handy cross-
reference to the transcriptions in Appendix A.
Dismissals and Complaints
Mr. Marshall, per agent Cumnock's orders,
wrote 33 letters to keepers, overseers, and mill
workers in which he complained of an
individual's behavior or actually fired workers for
having disobeyed a rule or for having acted in an
unacceptable manner: 9 letters concerned
boarding by keepers of non-Boott employees; 16
letters reprimanded individuals for alcohol use;
5 for other forms of "immoral" behavior; and 3
for damage to company housing.
Boarding of Non-Boott Employees
Although there is evidence that some keepers
were financially successful in the business of
running a boardinghouse (see Chapter 5 and
Bond 1988), others failed. In 1889, Marshall
inquired of the Lowell law firm of Marshall &
Hamblet (letter 2)2
^ Despite the same surname, no familial link could be
found between the attorney and the paymaster.
The Documentary Record of Social Control 27
If personal property (household goods) are
attached for one of our boarding houses, can the
party proceed and sell the goods by auction from
the said house, against our wish or consent — In
other words, can he make an auction room of our
boarding house without our consent.
The facts in the case are these. One of our boarding
house keepers has had her household goods
attached for debt by a grocer. Now can the grocer
use our building for the purpose of disposing of the
goods by auction?
As many workers moved away from the mills
into private tenements, the mills expended less
money on housing, and, as the archeological and
documentary evidence attest, housing
conditions deteriorated, keepers took measures
to turn a profit, or even to stay solvent. One
practice was to take in "mealers" — workers who
ate in the boardinghouse but lodged elsewhere.
Also, on occasion, a keeper was permitted to run
two units at one time (Boston Globe 1886: n.p.;
South worth, cited in Kenngott 1912: 46). This was
the case with two of the units explored
archeologically; at least for a few years in the late
1880s and 1890s, Boott #44 and #45 were run by
one keeper, Enoch Hutchins.
Sometimes keepers' actions were contrary to
corporation policy. Boarding non-company
employees was one "illegal" action. Not only
would this have increased the number of
boarders in a house but, perhaps, allowed them
to charge non-mill employees a higher rate for
room and board than was set by the mills.
Keepers Lizzie Kittredge and O. D. Starkey
were two of the keepers who received
reprimands (letters 6 and 7)). Marshall wrote to
Kittredge, "It is reported that Sarah Stuart is
boarding and rooming at your house and is
employed by Prescott corporation. And that
Sarah has been with you for the past six
months." He stated emphatically, "Mr.
Cumnock directs me to say that any further
violation of these rules will cause you to forfeit
your tenement as our tenements are for our own
employees...." To Starkey, Marshall pointed out
that he had "called your attention to matter of
underletting rooms without authority before."
The phrase "it is reported," which the
paymaster included not only in Kittredge's letter
but in many others as well, suggests that
employees of the Boott were in fact "under a
certain espionage" (Southworth n.d., quoted in
Center for History Now 1983: 126), and that
management did indeed rely on a network of
individuals to provide information about
employees' behavior. Stuart may have boarded
illegally for six months, however, and keeper
Starkey had been warned before. Management
either could not catch all the offenders or was
inconsistent in enforcement of the rule.
Whichever was the case, management
consistently dealt less harshly with
boardinghouse keepers than mill workers. As
the century progressed, the boardinghouses
became harder to fill and more expensive to run;
the Boott's leniency may reflect the lack of
potential replacements for the jobs. In addition,
it may reflect a prejudice against foreign-born
individuals. Four keepers — Hutchins, Kittredge,
Williams, and Scott — received multiple letters
that reprimanded them for rule violations. Yet
none were dismissed. Mr Chambagne, a French
Canadian, received only one letter in which he
was accused of "keeping a noisy and disorderly
house" (letter 25), and in the letter he was fired.
"Immoral" Behavior and Property Damage
Marshall wrote 24 letters in which he
complained of "inappropriate" behavior by
Boott employees. The paymaster ordered Frank
Leonard and Edward Hazard dismissed from
company boardinghouses (letters 14 and 33)
Hazard had "used language in the street in front
of your [Mrs. Kittredge'sJ premises unbecoming
a gentlemen." Leonard, who had recently left
the Boott, had been seen loafing on street
corners. In addition, Marshall reprimanded
keeper A. M. Williams because his boarders
had "been throwing filth and debris on top of the
sheds" (letter 13). And in September of 1889, the
paymaster wrote to Alfred Gardner (letter 9)
Complaint is made that your family throws swill,
tea grounds etc. into the cesspool in your back yard
and the same has clogged the drain and will have
to be cleaned out which Mr. Crawford will attend
to, but you must stop throwing such stuff into the
drain and not have it [illegible] again, and use our
swill bucket for such things.
Also you had a dead cat in your ash barrel last
Friday which had lain so long that it was
maggatey. You must be more cleanly, and not have
so much litter about your premises, as it will breed
disease and can't be allowed.
There are no photographs of the debris and
disarray to which Agent Cumnock objected, but
the scene of the rear of a Homestead,
Pennsylvania, millworker's home, with its pile of
liquor bottles, washing hung out to dry, and
overturned chair by the stoop (Figure 3-1), is
evocative of what Cumnock described.
Moreover, the image of waste being tossed into
the backyards is borne out in the archeological
evidence. The boardinghouse yard was littered
with sheet refuse.
28 The Boardinghouse System as A Way of Life
Figure 3-1. A man washing up outside the rear door of a Homestead, Pennsylvania,
boardinghouse. Note bottles and other refuse accumulated on the ground against the
building. (Lewis Hine photograph reproduced from Byington 1910.)
The Documentary Record of Social Control 29
The litter outside the Homestead house
appears to be mostly liquor bottles. Of the 24
Boott letters, 16 complained of employees'
alcohol use. If the number of letters is any
indication, workers' inebriation was considered
the most serious offense. That drunkenness was
dealt with harshly — every mill worker so accused
was dismissed — is not surprising.
Drunken employees would have slowed
production and therefore profits; but the mills'
policy toward alcohol was also in keeping with
the middle-class morality of the day. The
emergence of the factory system played a major
role in the transformation of alcohol from a
beverage that most colonists had considered "in
itself a good creature of God" (Mather, quoted in
Tyrrell 1979: 16) to the great scapegoat of the
19th century. Demon rum was blamed for
crime, insanity, poverty, and economic
uncertainty — in essence, it was made
responsible for most of society's ills (Johnson
1978: 55; Levine 1979: 34). The logic was that self-
control, an all-important concept to the
industrial work ethic, rested inside each person.
Thus when individuals acted in an unacceptable
manner, there must have been something that
affected the inner control and causedbad
behavior. It was easy and logical to point the
finger at liquor. It became perceived as a liquid
that was inherently addictive, loosened moral
constraint, freed the destructive impulses, and
weakened, if not destroyed, self-control (Levine
1979: 34, 37).
Once immigrant workers arrived with their
own pre-industrial customs associated with
alcohol use, attitudes toward liquor fueled the
prejudice these newcomers experienced (Stivers
1976; Tyrrell 1979). Immigrants' poverty was
blamed on their drinking. Moreover, many
Americans believed there was something innate
in the Irish and other immigrant groups that
caused them to drink.
Of the 16 letters that complained of workers'
drinking, 12 were written to individuals with Irish
surnames. That evidence in itself is not proof of
prejudice against the immigrant workforce —
they may in fact have been drinking. But it is
suggestive of it, as foreign-born workers were
discriminated against in other ways, such as in
wages and housing (Dublin 1979: 149-164).
Annie Driscoll was one of the Irish so accused.
In 1889 Marshall complained to keeper George
Kittredge (letter 10)
We are informed that Annie Driscoll who has been
working for Mr. Dearborn — has been drunk at your
house all this week — You probably know that this
is contrary to your order from agt. and that all cases
of drunkenness must be reported to the counting
room. You will at once dismiss Driscoll from your
house and look out for any further violation of the
rules.
Two years later, an overseer, Mr. Houston,
received the following letter (letter 21) about the
behavior of one of his mill hands who lived in
keeper Enoch Hutchins' house.
Mr. Hutchins reports that last night David O'Hara
was drunk in his house and making disturbance and
brought bottles of liquor into the house. You will
please discharge him and not again employ him.
Marshall sent a total of 9 letters that either
reprimanded Enoch Hutchins, or notified
overseers to dismiss one of Hutchins' boarders
because of alcohol use. The artifactual evidence
recovered from the backlot of Boott #44 and #45
indicates there was truth to Marshall's
suspicions. In October of 1890, Enoch Hutchins
received the following letter about one of his
boarders, Annie Pierce (letter 17). An earlier
correspondence (letter 15) indicates that
Marshall understood that Pierce, also known as
McGinness, had worked in overseer Lawley's
mill room until she left the Boott and began to
work at the Merrimack Mills; she then returned
to the Boott and overseer Rice rehired her.
Marshall stated
I have looked into the case of Annie Pierce, alias
McGinness and Mr. Lawley says she left him Labor
Day claiming to be sick but that she went off riding
with a fellow and another girl, and that he saw
them drunk and disorderly on the streets, and he
has seen her on several occasions. Her father says
that she did not leave your home (illegible) to work
and board on Merrimack Corporation, as she claims,
but has continued boarding with you all the time,
and when she went to work for Rice, she changed
her name from McGinness to Pierce and that you
changed it same on your books. From reports, she is
a bad girl, and not entitled to remain on our
corporation, and Mr. Rice will dismiss her as he can
fill her place, and you must also discharge her from
your house — I will say that our books show that
she left Lawley Sept. 1st and commenced work for
Rice Sept. 17th — 2 and two seventh weeks
afterwards. Report also comes that you have a
great deal of drunkenness in your house and don't
report it in counting room. You must be careful to run
your house a little more strict and not allow any
drunkenness in it, nor any profanity or disturbance
and report at our office all cases of this kind which
may arise that we may purify our corporation by
discharging the offenders.
Ironically, none of the published accounts of
post-Civil War mill regulations included an
explicit ban on alcohol use (Boston Globe 1886:
n.p.; 1876 Massachusetts Cotton Mills
Regulations, cited in Kenngott 1912: 24;
Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of Labor
1882). Yet, as the letters attest, proscription of
liquor was still in effect at the Boott. The
disparity between the published regulations and
the letters suggests two facets to management's
30 The Boardinghouse System as A Way of Life
attitude toward liquor. First, it is likely that there
was no longer any need to be explicit about the
regulation against alcohol. The assumption
must have been that the corporations' policy on
alcohol use was common knowledge. Second,
silence was one method of dealing with the
reality of the situation. Despite the assertion
that they wished to "purify" the corporation,
management had, on some level, realized they
would not be able to enforce the regulation.
Workers drank for a variety of reasons — ethnic
customs, as means to promote working-class
solidarity, and to temporarily escape from the
realities of poverty — it was behavior the workers
chose for themselves. If a worker wished to drink
whiskey, no amount of "moral" lecturing would
change that fact. Drinking belied the image that
mill management wished to project, however, as
"moral," orderly, and in full control of the
workforce. Therefore, managment avoided a
public discussion of the subject.
The content of the dismissals and complaints
suggests that Cumnock objected to workers'
aberrant behavior when it was in the public eye
aswell as to publicly visible damage to the
housing. Drinking and inebriation could not be
ignored. Drunken employees created a less
profitable workforce, and their deportment was
highly visible to the citizens of Lowell. Loafing
on street corners and gatherings of individuals
(like the group of workers playing cards in the
courtyard of a Homestead, Pennsylvania,
tenement; Figure 3-2) was public behavior.
Trash on a roof was a visible sign of disorder. In
the letter to attorneys Marshall and Hamblet,
James Marshall questioned whether the grocer,
who wished to sell off the keepers' belongings,
could "use our building for the purpose of
displaying goods by auction." A public auction
would have been an embarrassment to the mill.
None of the letters discussed conditions of the
interior of the housing, and, only once does
Marshall mention repairs to the inside of a unit
and then only in the vaguest of terms (letter 39).
Marshall wrote to a woman who was being
evicted that, before the new residents moved in,
Mr. Cumnock "says he shall do some repairs in
your house." Only two letters, the reprimand
sent to Mr. Gardner (letter 9) and the letter sent
to Mr. Fay (letter 53) concerned the condition of
backlots; one would suspect that the letters were
sent because the situation was severe enough
that management had no choice but to attend to
the drains. For the most part, however, what was
hidden, out of public view, was ignored.
In his letter to Hutchins, Marshall asserted
that management wished to "purify our
corporation by discharging the offenders." The
paymaster's choice of words is telling. Because
management could neither fully control the
workforce nor completely eliminate certain
behaviors, they merely expelled the "corrupt"
individuals from the corporation so that the
faqade of moral purity and order could be
maintained.
Conversion of Boardinghouses and Availability
of Housing
Marshall sent 12 letters to 10 individuals
regarding rental of the Boott's housing or
eviction from a unit because of the mills' plans
to convert a portion of the boardinghouses to
tenements.
On February 11, 1889, per Mr. Cumnock's
orders, James Marshall wrote to Mrs. L. D.
Leadbetter (letter 37); Mrs. Leadbetter ran
aboardinghouse at 43 Boott. The body of the
letter read
It is our intention to close some of our boarding
houses and make some into private tenements, and
in persuance of this plan this is to give you notice
that we desire you to vacate your tenement to us by
15th of April next.
That same day Marshall sent a similar letter to
Mrs. Davis, a keeper at #30 Boott (letter 38). He
told her that #21 Boott, a boardinghouse run by
Mrs. Bixby, was to be converted to a tenement.
Mrs. Bixby would vacate her unit and be
permitted to move into #30, and Mrs. Davis
would have to leave. And, in September of that
year, Mrs. McDonald at #20 Boott (letter 42) was
given similar notice. Marshall was careful to
point out, however, that there was "no
dissatisfaction with you or your house only now
we don't need as many boarding houses."
As the letters indicate, by the late 1880s the
Boott had begun to increase the number of
tenement units. In letter #48, regarding a
prospective tenant, the paymaster allowed as the
office was "besieged with applicants" for the
tenements. To a certain extent, the increase in
demand for family-type housing, as opposed to
the communal boardinghouses, reflected the
fact that, once the immigrants arrived, more
families worked in the mills. But tenement
housing also would have afforded workers a bit
more autonomy over their own lives than life in a
boardinghouse. While still subject to the mills'
schedule and regulations, tenements afforded
more privacy and freedom to prepare meals and
furnish the house as one liked (and could
afford).
Whether their actions were based on seniority
of employment, number of years in the units,
personal feelings toward individuals, or the
The Documentary Record of Social Control 31
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32 The Boardinghouse System as A Way of Life
whims of agent Cumnock, management was
inconsistent in the wording of eviction notices.
In some instances, such as Mrs. Davis's,
occupants were to move out with no offer of
other housing; in other cases, Mrs. Bixby's, for
example, they were provided with other housing
when their boardinghouses were converted.
Some residents were given several months to
vacate, others barely one month. Moreover,
Marshall apologized to only one individual,
William Marland, for the eviction (letter 44).
Marland's position as an overseer may have
played a role in the apology. He wrote to
Marland that the unit was to be rented to
another overseer who was in need of housing,
and added, "we are very sorry to be obliged to do
this but can't help it."
Repairs to Units and Cost of Utilities
Of these 5 letters, 3 inquire about charges due
on city water bills, one concerns a leaky privy
vault, one a broken hitching post.
Documentary research (Bell 1987a: 61-65)
provides clear evidence that, as the century
progressed, the Lowell Board of Health became
concerned about leakage from privy vaults into
well water (leakage did occur at the Boott — see
letter 58 cited below); in 1893 the Board even
analyzed water from one of the Boott
boardinghouse wells, but no results were
published. Although the Boott had begun to
install connections from the housing to the city
water supply as early as 1874, Bell's research
indicates that occupants of some of the units
continued to draw well water into the early 20th
century.
For some Boott residents the luxury of city-
supplied water was a financial burden. In May
of 1889, Marshall wrote to Millard Wright,
Superintendent of the Water Works, on behalf
of tenant John O'Hare; O'Hare felt he had been
overcharged on his water bill (letter 49). In
October of 1890, Marshall evicted the man
because he was six months behind on payment
of the bill (letter 52). In letter 50 the paymaster
complained to another tenant, Mr. William
Hibbard, about a four-month balance on his
water bill.
The Lowell Board of Health records (Bell
1987a: 60-63) and information contained in the
letters suggests that the shift from corporation-
built privies to a city-managed sewage system
began in the late 1880s. The privy vaults had
become an increasing nuisance for the Board,
both because of problems with leakage and
because their use was a sign of backwardness, "a
relic of a by-gone age" (Lowell Board of Health
1891: 18, quoted in Bell 1987a: 62). In April of
1890 the Board officially ordered the
corporations' privies removed within 60 days, but
the Board stated in the report of that year that
removal had begun in 1887.
Not all of the Boott privies were filled within
the 60-day stipulation. On April 17, 1891 (letter
53), the paymaster requested John Fay, the man
licensed by the city to clean privies, to repair a
leaky connection to a vault behind Boott #30.
Further, it is unclear precisely when #45 and #48,
the two units explored archeologically, were
connected to city sewage systems. In letter 49 to
Mr. Wright, dated May 24, 1889, Marshall
inquired whether the Superintendent had
overlooked the water charges for the "W.
Closets" for units 33-48. The artifactual
evidence suggests, however, that the privies were
not filled until after ca. 1910. It is evident,
however, that despite the fact that workers'
health depended in part on clean water and
sanitary conditions, "the textile workers, by
whom these services were needed, had little
control over the form and condition of such
facilities" (Bell 1987a: 68).
Employees' Debts, Wages, Illness, and Death
Three letters in this category discuss workers'
debts, two concern wages due, one concerns an
employee's illness, and one is a response to an
inquiry about length of employment of a former
Boott worker.
The letters are testament to Marshall's
competency as a paymaster. They indicate that
not only did he keep precise accounts, but that
he followed Cumnock's orders closely.
Employees wages and debts are the only areas in
which the paymaster appeared to have any
autonomy, for he did not include the phrase "per
order agent" in many of the letters that dealt
with the issues of finance.
In letter 56, regarding a "consumptive"
employee, Marshall wrote Cumnock, who was
away from the mill, that Maggie Bell might have
to be hospitalized and, if so, another worker
"would be responsible" for the costs. Marshall
added, however, "Dr. doesn't see why case can't
rest until your return." Clearly, Marshall
preferred (or was obligated) to wait for
Cumnock's response before taking any action.
In the case of the wages due Elizabeth Mullen
(letter 59), Marshall was willing to pay out exactly
what was owed but not a penny more. Mullen,
who had died suddenly, was due $4.71 in wages.
A man requested the wages, which he claimed
would be used for funeral expenses; Marshall,
however, refused payment until the claim could
The Documentary Record of Social Control 33
be verified so "that we shall not be called upon
to pay 2nd time."
Sarah Norcross (letter 58), who had boarded in
#45 for at least 10 years (1890 Lowell City
Directory ; 1880 federal census), left the Boott,
apparently because of ill health, and the
paymaster enclosed in his letter her wages of
$25, with added interest of $1.37. Not only does
this letter attest to Marshall's desire to settle
accounts, but it is the only letter which indicates
a friendship seems to have existed between the
paymaster and an employee. Marshall stated,
"am glad to hear from you and to know that your
health has improved since you went east."
Letter 60 settles accounts with the Whipples,
former Boott employees who had lived in one of
the tenements. Marshall confirms that their
rent and water bill had been paid and that, at
Mrs. Whipple's orders, the balance of their
wages should be given over to John Buttrick.
According to the 1890 Lowell City Directory,
Buttrick was in business with F. H. Butler & Co., a
Lowell apothecary.
Perhaps one of the Whipples had been ill and
purchased a quantity of proprietary medicine. If
so, he or she would have been in good company;
medicine bottles were recovered in large
quantities from the backlots of #45 and #48 (see
Chapter 8, this volume). "Patent" medicines
were widely used during the 19th century both
because of their supposed restorative powers,
and because the nostrums often contained
drugs such as codeine, morphine, and alcohol
(Stage 1979: 32; Williams 1980: 544). The cures
would have provided relief for the mill workers
who felt debilitated much of the time from the
long hours at work and conditions in the mill
rooms.
Two letters were written to attorneys who
attempted to garnish the wages of workers who
were in debt. Marshall stated these workers had
"sold their pay" (five other letters in the
"complaints" section also dismissed employees
who, along with other infractions, had sold their
pay).
A worker who sold his pay had been
"trusteed." The MBSL (1882: 216) explained the
procedure. When a worker fell behind in a
payment to a merchant, mill management was
served a legal writ, a trustee, to garnish the
worker's wages. A Lowell mill worker stated in
the same report that a worker was discharged
after he or she had been trusteed twice. At least
in one instance, however, the Boott did not
permit an employee a second chance. On May
7, 1891 (letter 31), mill worker Henry Ashton sold
his pay. The next day, in a letter to overseer
Newell Abare, Marshall questioned why Ashton
was even employed at the Boott; the mill worker
had sold his pay on April 1 and had been fired.
To rehire him was "contrary to agent's orders."
Mr. Vernette and Mr. McLarty had both been
trusteed (letters 55 and 57), and attorneys had
written to Marshall hoping to collect the wages.
Marshall refused to pay either of the attorneys.
In Mr. McLarty's case, Marshall preferred to let
a judge decide the case. The paymaster
suggested that "probably Vernette worked
under an alias" as his name did not appear on
the employee list. Marshall had also accused
one other employee, Annie "Pierce," of
changing her name (letter 17). The
straightforward tone of the paymaster's letter
suggests that using an alias was not an unusual
tactic; when workers were in financial or other
sorts of difficulties, the tactic must have been
used to hide ones' problems from management
and remain employed.
Indirect Control of the Workforce
Mill Influence in the Temperance Movement
and in City Policy
One of the most effective ways to regulate the
lives of labor in the workplace and in the home is
through indirect control. Intervention through
ideological and political mechanisms can
"diffuse the target of labor's discontent" (Harvey
1976: 283). In Lowell, mill managements'
attempts to "purify" the corporation extended
beyond the bounds of company property; it
extended into the temperance movement and
into local politics.
The Lowell industrialists took an active role in
the temperance movement. William Austin,
agent of the Lawrence Mill, was one of the first
presidents of the Lowell Temperance Society
(Coburn 1920: 207). In 1840, the Lowell City
Directory listed John Clark, superintendent of
the Merrimack Manufacturing Company, as the
Society's president and an agent of the
Lawrence Mill, John Aiken, as a vice president.
Linus Child, who in 1845 became the second
agent at the Boott, had, as a state legislator, been
influential in passing one of Massachusetts' first
temperance bills (Clark 1864: 11). In 1860, Child,
along with Lawrence agent William Southworth,
presented a petition before the Lowell mayor
and city aldermen. Signed, they said, by more
than 1500 women of Lowell, it advocated strict
enforcement of prohibition legislation (Peoples
Document 1860: 2).
Mill management influenced city policy
regarding liquor licenses; mill supervisory
personnel were often elected to the city council,
and, until 1894, aldermen on the city council
34 The Boardinghouse System as A Way of Life
granted liquor licenses (Lowell City Documents
1895: 45; Lubar 1983: 11). Lists of city officials in
the Lowell City Documents indicate that from
1837 onward, the year after Lowell was
incorporated as a city, a Boott overseer,
machinist, superintendent, or agent was, more
often than not, a Council member.
Lower-level supervisory mill personnel were
more frequently elected than agents. In 1855,
Homer Bartlett, the Massachusetts Mills
Treasurer and its former Agent, stated
Holding the office I do, I dont consider it proper to
take an active part in the way of addressing public
meetings — Our stockholders have always been very
sensative on this subject and unwilling that their
Treasurers and Agents should enter into politics
(Bartlett 1855, quoted in Bell 1987b: 19).
As Bell suggests, because of corporation views,
Bartlett did not consider it "proper" to enter
highly public political races. If this attitude did
in fact constrain Lowell agents, perhaps lower-
level, less visible personnel, such as overseers,
were urged to run on behalf of the mill. No
doubt mill employees did not always parrot the
views of management, but they did have the
ability to influence city policy to the mills'
advantage.
There is strong evidence that the Boott used
indirect methods to limit the number of taverns
in the area directly outside the mill gates. The
attempt to limit the sale of alcohol around an
industrial area was not a unique one. In
Pennsylvania, the state legislature passed
numerous acts that forbade taverns within a
three-mile radius of an industrial site (Tyrrell
1979: 107). Management's actions would have
prevented no one from walking the few extra
blocks to purchase a pint, and "illegal" saloons
could have operated in basements and
storefronts quite close to the mill gates.3 But the
line was a symbolic boundary; it was one further
method of making the Boott's presence felt.
In 1868, the first year of licensing in Lowell
following a 16-year attempt at statewide
prohibition (Turner 1972: 34), the Lowell City
Directory indicates that no saloons were
licensed in the four-block area bounded by the
Boott, Merrimack Street, Kirk Street, and Bridge
Street. In 1880, one licensed saloon operated on
Paige Street; according to the Directory, that
6 In the 1895 Report of the Chief of Police in the Lowell
City Documents (1895: 6), the chief stated that liquor
was often sold from tenements, particularly on Sundays.
He added that when tenants had a common entrance, it
was difficult to tell which kitchen was being used to
dispense the liqour, and that lookouts were posted on the
street to warn of police presence.
number increased to six in 1888. There was also
one tavern on John Street and one on Bridge
Street. In that year, the City Council received a
request from the John Street Church to revoke
all liquor licenses on Paige Street, and the
request was granted (Evening Citizen, April 7,
1888; Vox Populi, May 19, 1888).
The Church was linked to the Boott via Newell
Abare; Abare, a Boott overseer, was sexton of the
church, and, in 1890, he became a city
councilman (Lowell City Directory 1889; Lowell
City Documents 1890: 43). No further licenses
were granted on Paige Street for the rest of the
century. Whether this action was influenced by
the Church or the Boott, or both, is unclear. One
piece of evidence indicates, however, that the
ban on licenses on Paige Street was in keeping
with the wishes of the mill.
Beginning in 1899, the Boott sold off most of
the corporation's housing to real estate investor
Saiman Sirk (Middlesex County Deeds Book
314: 206). One contemporary writer asserts that
real estate speculators such as Sirk increased
rents and allowed conditions in the housing to
deteriorate (Kenngott 1912: 28). Some of the
units may have become lodginghouses, where
workers slept, going elsewhere for their meals
(Bond 1987: 41).
But the indirect method of control of workers
that was used by Boott management continued.
There was a stipulation in the deed to Sirk that
the conveyance was made subject to the
perpetual restriction that no intoxicating liquor
ever be sold on any part of the premises. The
purpose of the stipulation was, presumably, to
exclude working-class saloons from being
established adjacent to the mill yard. The only
exception to the restriction was one row of
housing on Bridge Street. It is likely that Bridge
Street was excluded because it was a major
commercial street, and, perhaps, because Sirk
remodeled the Bridge Street housing into an
apartment building (Clancey 1987: 32). This
block would have been unlikely to have housed
the immigrant workforce.
Conclusions
The image of threads woven together in a
loom is almost unavoidable when one visualizes
the tension between workers and management
at the Lowell mills. The metaphor will not be
belabored. But it is as if the warp — threads
stretched lengthwise — were the rules and
policies of the mill system. The weft — threads
that crossed over and under the warp — were the
steps taken by workers and management,
spread over time, that altered the system. The
The Documentary Record of Social Control 35
spread over time, that altered the system. The
basic mill system was a constant, but the pull
between the desires of workers and those of
management altered the fabric of the system.
Within the system, regulations were
established that governed every aspect of
workers' lives. Initially, workers were housed,
fed, and provided with religious as well as
secular education. Once the immigrants
became the dominant workforce, these
provisions, but not the regulations, ceased to be
seen as a necessity by management. The sturdy
brick faqades of the boardinghouses — highly
visible structures — and the public testimony on
the importance of religious education, however,
were still used by the industrialists as pointed
reminders to the Lowell populace that the mill
system was built upon a firm, "moral"
foundation.
The appearance of neatness and order was
vital to the success of the enterprise; it is
questionable, however, whether management
was ever vigilant in upkeep of the housing,
particularly what was hidden from public view. A
certain standard was necessary to attract the mill
women to Lowell, but, as the century progressed,
as the immigrant workforce entered the mills,
and as the economic pressures of
manufacturing increased, less money was spent
on the units. The Boott letters and other sources
attest that the housing was equipped with
leaking, outmoded privies, polluted wells, and
that management turned its back on the
conditions of the boardinghouse interiors.
Yet behavior that was public in nature — noise,
disorder, and especially drunkenness — belied
the image of an "orderly" workforce in a "moral"
environment. Because the reality of drunken
employees did not jibe with the way in which the
mills wished to be perceived, management
avoided a discussion of the subject. Individuals
who loafed on the street, threw trash onto the
roofs, or carried bottles of liquor into the mills'
housing were chastised or fired.
This effort to regulate public behavior of
workers went beyond the confines of mill
property. Boott management attempted to limit
the number of saloons near the millyard, and
this policy continued even after the sale of the
housing to Saiman Sirk.
In sum, like the Yankee "mill girls" before
them, the foreign-born workers had little say
over aspects of their lives such as hours of work,
wages, whether the housing was supplied with
clean, running water and was in good condition,
and whether they were evicted from the units or
fired. Management "held the cards" and their
actions — in everything from installation of sewer
systems to employee dismissals — depended on
what was expedient at that particular moment.
Management's policy toward workers was also
influenced by an individual's ethnicity, religion,
and level in the hierarchy of mill employment.
As revealed by the letters, workers did,
however, take steps to retain control over their
own lives. In an attempt to stay solvent or to
increase a house's profitability, keepers took in
"mealers" and ran several boardinghouses at
once. Workers chose to live in the tenements
rather than the communal boardinghouses
where they would have had a greater degree of
privacy and choice. Some steps were contrary to
mill policy or considered unacceptable behavior,
such as the boarding of non-Boott employees,
assuming an alias, and drinking alcohol in the
Boott's boardinghouses.
The information gleaned from the letters —
that the boardinghouse yards were messy, that
the overall condition of the backlots was poor,
and that workers consumed alcohol in the
units — concurs with the archeological evidence.
In some instances the letters were even written
to or about individuals who lived in the units
investigated archeologically. The neat, orderly
image of the mills that the owners took pains to
present, however, is made all the more hollow by
the archeological evidence. The archeology
helps to strip off the facade of neatness and
order; in so doing, it exposes management's
attempts to regulate workers' behavior without
taking equal responsibility for workers' lives.
Managers, however, could not completely
eliminate certain behavior. They could only
"purify our corporation by discharging the
offenders" and remain vulnerable, at least in a
small way, to workers' attempts to retain control
of their lives.
36 The Boardinghouse System as A Way of Life
Chapter 4
DOMESTIC IDEOLOGY AND THE ECONOMICS
OF BOARDINGHOUSE KEEPING
by David B. Landon
Introduction
The 19th century was a period of dynamic
transition in the United States. Large-scale
urbanization, industrialization, and immigration
caused changes in the structure of work and life
that profoundly affected the course of American
development. The rapid growth of urban and
industrial areas of this period provided
challenges to the family and individuals
attempting to adapt to new living and working
conditions. These changes did not go unnoticed
or uncontested. Many people were greatly
concerned with the shifts taking place in living
and working arrangements. The first part of this
chapter will examine some of the 19th-century
conceptions about alterations in the function of
the household, and specifically, the position of
women's labor within the home. This will
provide a framework for a more specific analysis
of boarding, which was one particular living
arrangement that expanded during the period.
In some of the emerging industrial centers of the
Northeast, boarding became an institutionalized
form of housing that helped to facilitate the
transition to urban-industrial society. The
boardinghouse system in Lowell, Massachusetts,
exemplifies this type of situation. During the
early period of Lowell's development the textile
corporations that created the town built
numerous boardinghouses to house their
employees, and it is important to try to
understand the relationship of the Lowell
boardinghouse system to the wider patterns of
boarding during the 19th century. A certain
amount of research has attempted to address
aspects of the boardinghouse system, but the
social and economic factors influencing the
boardinghouse keepers have often been
neglected. A major goal of this discussion will be
to try to examine boarding from the perspective
of people who were taking in boarders or
running boardinghouses.
The Changing Nature of Women's Work
One of the primary changes in domestic labor
during the course of the 19th century was the
increasing movement of various components of
household production out of the household and
into the general economy. As large numbers of
people moved into urban settings and began
wage labor outside of the household, the
household lost its position as the primary locus
of productive activity. The factories and
businesses in which these people labored
increasingly began to take over production of
some of the commodities that had previously
been centered in the household. The textile
industry provides a striking example of this
phenomenon as the traditional position of cloth
production within the house was supplanted by
industrialized factories, such as those in Lowell.
This transition of productive functions out of the
house caused fundamental changes in the
nature of housework.
Before the effects of technology reached them,
women produced nearly everything their families
consumed. By the Civil War period, women in the
expanding cities and towns were able to buy not only
cloth, but butter, milk, meat flour, and myriad
other household necessities. With the exception of
child-rearing, most of the work a woman did
consisted of day-to-day maintenance: feeding and
cleaning and mending and feeding and cleaning.
Her tasks were fewer but they were distinctly
monotonous and in a tangible sense unproductive
(Shapiro 1986: 12-13).
The "unproductive" nature of women's work (i.e.,
as a rule women received no compensation for
their work and produced no tangible or
marketable product) was heightened by the
rapidly expanding economy that increasingly
defined the value of labor solely in terms of
wages. With more and more people
participating in wage-paying labor (including
many women) the unpaid labor of women in the
household was in an ambiguous position of
indefinite value. This contributed in a very real
sense to the development of new definitions of
the appropriate role for women and the value of
women's labor in the household. While there
was some debate about how this new definition
of household labor should be structured and
formed (e.g., Hayden 1981), the middle class
ideology that prevailed redefined the value of
household labor primarily by investing it with
spiritual and sentimental value.
As women's traditional responsibilities became less
and less relevant to a burgeoning industrial
economy, the sentimental value of home expanded
37
38 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
proportionally. Moralists, theologians, and
popular writers produced reams of literature aimed
at investing domesticity with the spiritual
sweetness of heaven itself. According to these
authorities, a woman's most impressive duty was to
make her home a heaven in miniature, herself the
angel ready at the end of each day to receive and
revive the weary worker (Shapiro 1986: 13-14).
In addition to this moralistic image, the value
of women's housework was, as the second half of
the 19th century progressed, increasingly being
defined in "male" terms as well. Lack of wages
notwithstanding, the proponents of "domestic
science" began "a campaign to professionalize
housekeeping — to increase the dignity of the
woman as housekeeper in order to achieve for
her a status equivalent to that which society
granted to 'male' professions" (Andrews and
Andrews 1974: 311-313). Continuing industrial
development played a dual role in the formation
of these apparently contradictory "professional"
and "spiritual" images of household labor.
Technology, as a social force, stimulated the new
perception of the home as a moral center and the
woman as its divinely appointed ruler; and
technology also offered a source of aid in elevating
the woman's role as professional housekeeper
(Andrews and Andrews 1974: 313).
New mechanical devices for the home were
brought in, not just as labor saving devices, but
also "as ornaments of technology which might
bestow on their users the same honor granted to
men who operated the larger machines of the
factory system" (Andrews and Andrews 1974:
317). Domestic scientists tried to strengthen this
association by drawing on "mechanistic
metaphors" for the home and focusing on
organization and efficiency as important
principles of housework (Andrews and Andrews
1974: 317). This combination of moralistic and
domestic science imagery created a unique
definition for women's household labor. On one
hand it was a woman's spiritual calling, yet at the
same time, the efficient and scientific
organization of this work helped to elevate its
status. A woman was supposed to create the
proper moral and spiritual home environment
for her family, but she was supposed to do this in
a professional manner.
One of the most obvious ways the attention to
domestic ideology can be seen to have affected
the home environment is the central importance
domestic ideology took on for much of the
reform movement. Although progressive
reformers addressed a whole range of issues, the
domestic environment was of considerable
importance. The moral imagery with which
domestic issues had been imbued contributed
to middle class proselytization of a domestic
ideology. By teaching the urban poor and recent
immigrants the "proper" way to cook and clean,
as well as how to decorate their houses, they
could be uplifted and "Americanized" (Cohen
1986: 264). Often this took the form of visits to
poor households by middle-class women who
"offered suggestions on economical meals, good
housekeeping routines, educational goals for the
children" and a variety of other topics (Wright
1981: 128). Of crucial importance to a number of
these reformers were lower-class eating and
cooking habits. As one reformer wrote,
"philanthropists may urge what they will, — less
crowding, purer air, better sanitary regulations;
but this question of food underlies all" (Shapiro
1986: 134). In addition to trying to influence diet
through home visits, reformers established
cooking schools and model kitchens (Levenstein
1980). Even the temperance movement placed
emphasis on food and believed that better food
and more attention to cooking would result in
less drinking (Shapiro 1986: 138). The concern
over the domestic environment and food
preparation was clearly larger than just the
concern for the individual housewife but was
symbolic of a larger concern with the
propagation of particular "American" values.
This very general discussion glosses over
much of the complexity involved in looking at
the changing nature and perception of
housework during the 19th century. The
technological advances and other changes
associated with industrialization had a variety of
impacts on the home environment. Four major
themes have been suggested that will resurface
to varying degrees throughout the remainder of
this chapter. These are: 1) the increasing
disassociation of aspects of production from the
household; 2) the moralistic and spiritual
definition of women's household duties; 3) the
introduction of technological innovations as
labor saving devices and as objects to
symbolically elevate the woman's status; and 4) a
constant concern with household work and the
domestic environment as an issue for significant
attention and reform. As the focus shifts
increasingly to the boardinghouses the
importance of having this larger understanding
of the changing perceptions of household labor
will become clear.
Boardinghouses as a Housing Alternative
In order to properly understand the situation
represented by the Lowell boardinghouses it is
necessary to have a more generalized
understanding of boarding as an economic and
social activity. This will be approached from
Domestic Ideology and Boardinghouse Economics 39
several different perspectives. To start, an
attempt will be made to view the large corporate
boardinghouses as part of a more
comprehensive system of boarding as a housing
alternative and to trace out some of the
similarities to boarding on a smaller scale. An
important part of this will be to try to see
boardinghouse keeping from the perspective of
the keepers in terms of occupational, social, and
economic choices. Finally, the focus will shift
specifically to the Lowell boardinghouses and
attempt to delineate some of their particular
economic characteristics with a special
emphasis on the relation to the corporations and
the services provided to boarders.
While it is easy to think of the boardinghouse
situation in Lowell as unique, it is more
appropriate to think of the Lowell
boardinghouses as one end of a range of
possible boarding situations. At one end is the
household that takes in a single boarder for a
short period of time, at the other, the massive
institutionalized boardinghouses of the
industrial system. In the center of this spectrum
the lines become very blurred because "It is
difficult to know when taking in a couple of
lodgers became the sole support of a household
or individual, [or] when it. ..might be considered
running a boardinghouse" (Davidoff 1979: 85-
86). The importance of this is that it forces the
realization that the Lowell boardinghouses were
part of a larger phenomenon (albeit one end of a
range of situations) and helps to affirm the
validity of trying to understand boarding by
looking at it in a larger context.
In a certain sense the practice of taking
boarders into the family, which expanded with
the 19th-century growth of urban areas, was not
really that much of a break with earlier
traditions.
The Colonial family included boarders as well as
servants and apprentices and dependent strangers.
The presence of strangers in the household was
accepted as a normal part of family organization.
Town governments customarily boarded the
homeless, poor or juveniles with families for a fee.
The 19th-century American family was an
accommodating and flexible institution, as had
been its eighteenth- and seventeenth-century
predecessors (Hareven and Modell 1973: 467-468).
With the rapid expansion of urban populations
and the growth of industrial communities during
the 19th century, the practice of boarding
became even more important. Boarding was
increasingly attractive both to families wishing to
supplement their income and to new urban
residents in need of affordable housing.
Statistics from the mid-1 9th century give an
indication of just how prevalent boarding was
among urban populations and in smaller
industrial communities. In the cotton
community of Rockdale, Pennsylvania, one-
quarter to one-half of all the mill households
included boarders at the time of the 1850 census
(Wallace 1972: 67). Studies on communities in
the Hudson River Valley and the cities of Buffalo
and Detroit have suggested that at any given
time during the latter half of the 19th century, 15
to 20% of all households were augmented by
nonkin (Hareven and Modell 1973: 468). In
Boston, between 10 and 30% of all households
were taking in boarders during this period, and
in 1860, 6.3% of the total city population was
living in boarding and lodging houses of more
than five residents (Hareven and Modell 1973:
468; Peel 1986: 816-817). All these figures tend to
suggest that boarding was quite a widespread
phenomenon during the 19th century. In the
city of Lowell, boarding was even more
significant. "Boardinghouse residents were
more than simply a large group in the overall
labor force. For all practical purposes, they were
the labor force" (Dublin 1979: 80; emphasis in
original). Even as late as 1875, after the
corporations had started the transition away
from boardinghouses, over 46% of the operatives
still resided in company boardinghouses
(Massachusetts Bureau of the Statistics of Labor
[hereafter MBSL] 1882: 293).
Labor Opportunities for Women
While this suggests the wide-spread nature of
boarding as a living arrangement, it is equally
valid to try to understand the prevalence of
boarding as a potential working arrangement for
the boardinghouse keeper. In order to gain
greater insight into boardinghouse keeping as
an employment opportunity for women it is
useful to try to put this job within a larger context
of the labor possibilities for women. In 1884 and
1889, respectively, the Massachusetts Bureau of
the Statistics of Labor published studies of the
working women of Boston and the state of
Massachusetts. An examination of the manner
in which they grouped particular jobs and the
number of women employed in different jobs
can offer a great deal of information. The jobs of
working women in Boston are shown in Table 4-1
(MBSL 1884: 6-11).
While all of these categories were broken
down into numerous sub-categories, the
principle category of interest is that of Domestic
and Personal, which was broken down into
enough detail to list boardinghouse keepers
(MBSL 1884: 6; Table 4-2).
40 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 4-1. Employment distribution of Boston women in
1884.
Occupational Category
Government & professional
Domestic & personal
Trade & transportation
Agriculture
Manufactures & mechanical
Apprentices, laborers, misc.
Total women employed
#
%
2,326
5.9
20,115
51.7
3,167
8.1
20
0.1
12,863
33.1
390
1.1
38,881
99.9
Table 4-2. Employment in domestic and personal
service for Boston women in 1884.
Occupational Category #
Boarding & lodging 1,883
Boardinghouse keepers 452
Hotel keepers 14
Hotel and restaurant clerks 15
Hotel and restaurant employes 1,366
Restaurant keepers 19
Saloon keepers 17
Domestic service 15,966
Personal office 2,266
Total domestic & personal service 20,1 15
For purposes of clarification, all 15,966 women
involved in domestic service were domestics.
Personal service, while encompassing a variety
of different occupations, was almost entirely
laundresses (1,435), nurses (552), and
hairdressers (106), collectively representing
92.3% of the women employed in personal
service.
One thing that should immediately be noticed
is that boardinghouse keeping was perceived as
being related to other services that provided
food and lodging, such as hotels and restaurants.
This points out the economic nature of
boardinghouse keeping as part of a larger
service industry. It is also clear just how
significant boardinghouse keeping was as a
women's occupation in Boston. The 452
boardinghouse keepers listed were women who
ran houses professionally. This underestimates
the true extent of boarding by excluding, for
instance, families who took in a single boarder or
operated on a similarly small, non-professional
scale. Even with the expectation that this figure
underrepresents boarding, keeping of
boardinghouses was a very significant
occupation for women. The survey of Boston
women's occupations from which these figures
were drawn included 222 different jobs women
held in the city. Of all of these, boardinghouse
keeping ranked tenth in terms of the total
number of women employed (MBSL 1884: 6-11).
Together, the top ten occupations made up
almost 82% of the total number of employed
women. These jobs were, in order, domestics
(15,966), dress makers (5,511), tailoresses (3,013),
store clerks (1,475), laundresses (1,435), hotel and
restaurant employees (1,366), teachers (1,319),
milliners (716), nurses (552), and boardinghouse
keepers (452). Clearly, boardinghouse keeping,
though dwarfed by some of the other
occupations, was very significant in the overall
framework of work opportunities for Boston
women. In the case of the Boott Mills, as Bond
points out in Chapter 5, boardinghouse keepers
were originally recruited from the local middle
class in an effort to attract "respectable" widows,
and, as a result, under the Lowell system the
position of keeper seemingly carried a higher
status than private boardinghouse keeping.
Table 4-3. Employment distribution for women in
Massachusetts in 1885.
Occupational Category
Government & professional
Domestic & personal
Trade & transportation
Agriculture & fisheries
Manufacture & mechanical
Apprentices & laborers
#
%
15,561
5.20
149,971
53.25
11,980
4.00
411
0.15
111,654
37.20
526
0.20
Total women employed
299,981 100.00
Statewide data from 1885 (published in 1889)
show a slightly different pattern from that of
Boston. The major occupational categories for
women are shown in Table 4-3 (MBSL 1889: 582-
585). As with the statistics from Boston, the
Domestic and Personal category can be further
broken down (Table 4-4).
For the state as a whole, personal service is
once again composed primarily of nurses (3,132)
and laundry workers (2,576) (the other major
category is "Not specified" — 3,669).
By expanding the view of women's labor
opportunities to the statewide level, a slightly
different image of the importance of
boardinghouse keeping is apparent.
Employment in boardinghouses on a statewide
level ranked 30 out of 125 recorded occupations
for women. The top ten jobs for Massachusetts
women in 1885 were servants (137,742), cotton
mill operatives (31,514), boot and shoe
manufactory operatives (14,390), dressmakers
(12,712), teachers (9,922), woolen mill operatives
(9,149), bookkeepers and clerks (5,784),
housekeepers (4,901), saleswomen (3,828), and
seamstresses (3,728). Taken together, these ten
occupations accounted for almost 78% of the
total number of women employed in
Domestic Ideology and Boardinghouse Economics 41
Massachusetts. The difference in this pattern
from that seen in Boston is the increased
importance of manufacturing jobs, which seems
to be a reflection of the concentration of
industrial manufactories outside of the city of
Boston in industrial towns such as Lowell, Lynn,
and Holyoke. In this sense, the information
from the state as a whole probably more
accurately reflects the Massachusetts economy
and the overall structure of labor opportunities
for Massachusetts women. Interestingly, it is in
the manufacturing towns outside of Boston
where boarding probably played the largest role
in the overall housing market.
Table 4—4. Employment in domestic and personal
service for Massachusetts women in 1885.
Occupational Category
Boarding and Lodging
Boardinghouse employees
Hotel employees
Restaurant employees
Not specified
Domestic Service
Housekeepers
Servants (in families)
Personal Service
#
7,328
1,387
1,867
1,528
2,546
132,855
4,901
127,954
9788
Total
149,971
The establishment of this framework, albeit
sketchy, for looking at boardinghouse keeping
within a context of women's work opportunities is
valuable for several reasons. For one thing, it
allows an examination of the range of possible
jobs for women and contributes to an
understanding of the major types of jobs women
held. More important, it serves to point out, at
least in a general sense, the widespread nature
of boarding as an institutionalized living
arrangement that offered significant potential
for employment. With this in mind, it is
appropriate to focus more specifically on the
economic and social nature of boarding from the
perspective of the keeper and to try to place
boarding more clearly within the context of 19th-
century conceptions of the appropriate position
of women's labor.
The Social Vision of Boardinghouse
Keeping
The prevalence of boarding was based on a
wide variety of factors both economic and social.
In Lowell, as elsewhere, it is often difficult to
separate the different aspects. The corporations
needed to guarantee a steady and cooperative
labor force in an economic sense, but this was
done, in part, by building a rhetoric describing a
particular type of social environment. It is
important to realize that for the early industrial
communities, more attention and debate was
focused on the prospective living conditions of
the new employees than on the new working
environments. "According to the industrialists,
factory conditions were less at issue than
housing, which would continue to have an
influence over the workers' families after they
had left the industrial town" (Wright 1981: 61).
This serves to point out just how crucial domestic
concerns were during this period, and
emphasizes the value of looking at industry
through workers' housing. While a great deal
more could be said about the economic and
social implications of housing from the industrial
perspective (i.e., as part of a larger framework of
corporate paternalism) it is of greater value to try
to approach this subject from the slightly
different perspective of the people who were
running boardinghouscs or taking in boarders.
As was stated at the outset, one of the major
changes of the 19th century was the increasing
movement of a variety of the productive
functions out of the household and into the
larger economy, and the concurrent and
increasing notion of the separation of "work"
and "home." Boardinghouse keeping directly
contradicts this idea because it involved the
expansion of labor within the household, in
effect merging home and work. Any attempt to
accomplish an understanding of boardinghouse
keeping must attempt to address this apparent
contradiction between the domestic ideal of the
separation of spheres and the reality of women's
work in the home (Davidoff 1979: 64).
An excellent example of the interaction of
these complex themes can be seen in the
writings of Catherine Beecher, one of the most
significant 19th-century authors of domestic
literature. Beecher's work is of particular
interest because it highlights some of the issues
raised about 19th-century conceptions of
domestic labor. Throughout her work Beecher
supports her claims with "two new metaphors of
female authority: woman as 'home minister'
and as skilled 'professional'" (Hayden 1981: 56).
Further, Beecher was a staunch advocate of the
separation of spheres and the isolation of the
female within the home, feeling that this was
where women could have their greatest
influence on American society (Sklar 1973: 153-
156). What makes all of this so interesting is that
Beecher picks a boardinghouse keeper as an
example to other women of the importance of
"professional" housekeeping and the proper
42 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
manner of organizing home accounts (Beecher
1841: 177). Implicit in this is the acceptance of
boardinghouse keeping as a morally legitimate
activity for women and of the boardinghouse
keeper as a model to be at least partially
followed by other women. In other words,
Beecher apparently saw no contradiction
between the domestic ideology she was creating
and the labor of women as boardinghouse
keepers.
What this suggests is that boardinghouse
keeping, by creating employment through the
expansion of the household duties of women, did
not necessarily contradict the expanding
domestic ideology of the middle class and was,
in fact, more acceptable than some other types
of occupations for women. Boardinghouse
keeping represented, in a certain sense, a
chance for women to "make money and not lose
social class" (Strasser 1982: 148). It was a "way of
supplementing income without the women in
the household having to work in public"
(Davidoff 1979: 85). In part, the apparent social
acceptability of boardinghouse keeping was also
based on the image of the boardinghouse as a
surrogate family. In industrial towns such as
Lowell "boardinghouse keepers were regarded
as surrogate parents and operatives as minor
children" (Dublin 1979: 79). Although this was
certainly part of the extension of the
corporations' control of workers into their living
environments, it was also a description of
board inghouses which helped to alleviate some
of society's concerns for the preservation of
family morality.
Boarding ideally functioned as a surrogate for the
family, shielding transient individuals from the
uprooting forces of migration. It was the family's
agent in the city, guiding the young migrant from
home to marriage while keeping the ties to family
and community intact. In large cities boarding could
meet on one front the potential moral and social
problems of undisciplined peer-group life. While
the reality rarely met the ideal, a belief in
boarding persisted insofar as it promised a means of
insulating young men and women from the perils of
urban life while facilitating the migration and
discipline necessary for American urban-industrial
development (Peel 1°86: 813-814).
These notions helped to justify the validity of
boardinghouse life by drawing on societal
concerns over the stability of the family and put
the boardinghouse keeper in a position of
recognized importance.
By the end of the 19th century the acceptance
of a level of respectability for boardinghouse life
began to fade, especially as boarding (where the
occupants most often shared meals in the
house) increasingly gave way to lodging (where
meals were taken outside the house). As the
progressive reformers became more and more
concerned with the domestic environment, the
societal concerns with boarding and lodging
became more pronounced. Interestingly, the
surrogate family image of the boardinghouse
took on added importance. By the turn of the
century, reformers were making an "explicit
distinction between the family life of the
boardinghouse and the lonely self absorption of
lodgers" (Peel 1986: 813). This is worth
recognizing because it shows quite clearly the
importance of the notion of the boardinghouse
as a surrogate family.
Another crucial aspect of boardinghouse life
that is related to the image of the boardinghouse
as surrogate family is the extent to which
boarders shared characteristics with each other
and their "surrogate parents." During the first
several decades in Lowell there was a significant
amount of cultural similarity among the
boarders. In addition, "kin and friendship
networks . . . operated throughout the
boardinghouse system" (Dublin 1979: 81).
Though the socialization aspects of this system
have been compared to other boardinghouse
situations for women (Dublin 1979: 83), it is
equally as valid to see these connections as part
of a larger pattern of regularity in boarding
relations. In Lowell, the female boarders were all
coming into a similar situation with, to a certain
extent, relatively clearly defined relations to the
boardinghouse keeper in his/her role as
corporate employee. The situation was slightly
different in boarding with individual families, as
there was more potential fluidity in relationships.
By looking at the types of relationships between
people involved in boarding it becomes clear
that the kin and friendship networks of the
women in the Lowell boardinghouses are
actually reflective of a larger pattern of
organizing boarding arrangements along family,
class, occupational, and ethnic lines. Studies of
both individual families taking in boarders and
commercial boarding and lodging houses found
significant (admittedly highly complex and
dynamic) correlations between the boarders and
the head of household or keeper in terms of
occupation, status, and nationality (Hareven and
Modell 1973: 473; Peel 1986: 825-826). Similarly,
ethnic background has been suggested as a
determining factor in boardinghouse
composition during the latter half of the 19th
century in Lowell as immigrant labor began to
supplant native labor (Bond 1987: 40-41).
Domestic Ideology and Boardinghouse Economics 43
Economic Aspects of Boardinghouse
Keeping
Shifting the focus somewhat, it is appropriate
to try to approach boarding from a more strictly
economic point of view. Above all else, boarding
represented an economic transaction where an
individual exchanged cash (or perhaps at times
some type of service) for a place to eat, sleep,
and maybe have laundry done. While the
Lowell boardinghouses played an economic role
for the corporations, it is harder to come to terms
with the economic situation of the
boardinghouse keepers. Clearly, the primary
concern of these people was the support of
themselves and their dependents. Although it
has been suggested that boardinghouse keeping
might have been a woman's occupation that was
accorded slightly higher social status than some
other jobs, and that this might have contributed
to its attractiveness, it is necessary to go into
greater detail about the economic
characteristics of boarding to fully understand it.
In their study of boarding and lodging as a
phenomenon of the family, Hareven and Modell
emphasized the economic nature of the decision
of a family to take in boarders and focused on a
number of different motivations.
Families which were prepared to accept lodgers: 1)
were able to receive a 'brokerage fee' for adapting
the primarily large dwelling units to the needs of
usually single immigrants, usually from their own
social level and a similar standard of living; 2)
realized income for work performed by the wife
within the home...; 3) benefited by a gain in
[income] flexibility..., available even in times of
sickness or unemployment; 4) were in a position to
stabilize their income through the family life
cycle...; 5) afforded widows and single women.. .an
opportunity to maintain their own households
rather than live with kin (Hareven and Modell
1973: 473-474).
These economic aspects of boarding show the
potential complexity of motivations and are
worthy of further attention. Basically these five
characteristics can be generalized to three major
points: the ability of women to work within the
home; the ability to maintain the house and
household in situations where it could not
otherwise be afforded; and the advantage of
income stability through either periodic income
shortfalls or life cycle transitions. The nature of
boarding as women's work within the home has
already been discussed, with the exception of
one major feature. Work in the home would
have been particularly attractive to women with
dependent children. "Taking in boarders
offered more independence than most.. .home
work, and it was in many places the only
available employment for women who wanted to
make money while staying at home to care for
their children" (Strasser 1982: 154). While it is
not clear how great a concern this was of the
corporate boardinghouse keepers in Lowell, it
does give some additional insight into individual
motivations.
Of greater importance were the more
fundamentally economic concerns, especially
for the family.
The boarders were a crucially important factor in
the financial plans of many working class
households for they paid good money — $2 per week
if male, $1.25 per week if female. The wife, who
cooked for the boarders and did their housekeeping
(which probably included laundry services), could
bring in as much as $24 per month by caring for
three male boarders — very likely more than the
rest of the family earned at the mill (Wallace
1972: 66-67).
While this clearly shows the potential economic
advantage to the family, one mistake Wallace
makes must be pointed out. He fails to grasp
the true economic value of taking in boarders.
Unlike bringing home money from a job, the
money taken in from boarders was not solely for
labor, but also had to cover the additional
expenses of maintaining a larger household, a
factor Wallace seems to have overlooked.
One interesting aspect of taking in boarders is
that, at least for families in Manchester, New
Hampshire, it was not necessarily a substitute
for female work outside of the household. While
taking in a large number of boarders did
constitute such a substitution, "wives in male
headed households with boarders were more
likely to work outside the home than wives in
households without boarders" (Hareven 1982:
210). This seems to suggest that, for the
individual family, taking in boarders was just one
part of an overall diversified commitment to
income maximization on the part of the
household. This particular feature of boarding is
one aspect that helps to draw the conceptual
lines between family boarding and the large-
scale institutional boarding of the Lowell
industrial system. Running a corporate
boarding house was a full-time job.
One particularly valuable focus of Hareven
and Modell's work that is applicable to Lowell is
the discussion of the process of bringing in
boarders as a function of the life cycle of the
household. The value of this derives from the
fact that it helps to provide a way of examining
the pattern of who was running the
boardinghouses. One feature of the
corporations' rhetoric was the claim that
boardinghouse keeping was particularly well
suited to widows and women with no other
economic alternatives, though it is clear from the
44 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
demographic information that these were not
the only people running boardinghouses (Center
for History Now 1985: 96). By recognizing the life
cycle advantages of taking in boarders it is
possible to see either single women or
households as fitting into this pattern. For older
women and widows in particular, however, the
ability to maintain autonomy was largely based
on the ability to have either children or boarders
augmenting the household (Hareven 1982: 177).
This suggests a way to create a more
comprehensive framework for understanding
the bases for the decisions made by individuals
and households who took in boarders or ran
boardinghouses.
The Lowell Boardinghouse System
With this background pointing out the
similarities of the Lowell corporate
boardinghouses to boarding on a smaller scale,
it is appropriate to try to delineate some of the
unique features of the situation in Lowell. The
overriding difference of the situation in Lowell
was the inextricable association of the
boardinghouses with the corporations. Both the
operatives and the corporations considered
inexpensive board as part of the total wage
package. One example that clearly shows this
fact is the operatives' strike in October, 1836, in
opposition to an increase in the board rate,
something the workers felt was an attack on their
pay (Dublin 1979: 86).
The close ties to the corporations had both
some advantages and disadvantages for the
boardinghouse keepers. On the positive side,
the boardinghouse keepers did not have to
invest in a house or take full responsibility for its
upkeep. To start up a boardinghouse the keeper
needed only enough capital — although this was
a far from insubstantial amount — to furnish the
house and provide for initial operating expenses
(in addition to corporate approval, of course).
The economic constraints of this type could have
been met by bulk purchases or perhaps by
rental of furnishings (Bond 1987: 40). While
some upkeep of the facility was undoubtedly
required of the keepers, any major repairs would
likely have been handled by the corporations.
As one mill employee pointed out, "The
corporations give employment to nearly 200 men
whose only duty consists in repairing and
painting the tenements and boardinghouses"
(MBSL 1882: 289).
Perhaps an even greater advantage derived
from the ties to the corporations was that the
keepers had a powerful structure backing up
their dealings with their tenants. In a private
boardinghouse a keeper could conceivably run
into difficulties with obstinate or obnoxious
tenants. A rather sad example of this was
recorded in Manchester, New Hampshire,
where a female operative described the
problems her mother encountered while
running a private boardinghouse.
She went bankrupt too.. .they were getting too much
good food for what they were paying. ..strawberry
shortcake and cream pies! She was giving them all
her profits. The cigar makers never paid the full
amount. They were always behind. They'd miss a
meal, and the next time they'd bring a friend to
take the place of that meal. That's how cheap
they were. She lost (Hareven 1982: 210-211).
While some of the problems this woman had
seem to have stemmed from her own
mismanagement, she also seems to have had
constant problems collecting her boarders'
money, which ultimately helped drive her out of
business. One advantage for the boardinghouse
keepers in Lowell that must be recognized is the
power of the corporations (whether implicit or
explicit) in maintaining order among the
tenants. Further, the corporate boardinghouse
keepers in Lowell never had to worry about
collecting board fees because it was taken out of
operatives' pay before they ever received it.
On the other side of this same issue, there
were also disadvantages inherent in working for
the corporations. The fact that the
boardinghouses were owned by the companies
meant that a keeper who, for whatever reason,
wanted to quit, was not just leaving a job, but also
a house. This provides an interesting parallel to
the workers, who were often in the same
situation. Additionally, keepers had specific
responsibilities in terms of the enforcement of
corporate policy, such as evening curfews and
abstinence in the boardinghouses (Dublin 1979:
78). Perhaps the greatest disadvantage,
however, was that there seems to have been a
clear decrease in the profitability of running
corporate boardinghouses during the course of
the 19th century, leaving the keepers in an
increasingly tenuous situation (Center for
History Now 1985: 125). This ultimately led to
some changes in the system, such as opening
meals to outsiders and control of more than one
unit by a single keeper. Nonetheless, in a period
of declining profitability the boardinghouse
keepers were not really able to adapt to the
market on their own, but were constrained by the
policy decisions of the corporations.
It is possible to be even more specific about
certain aspects of the economic structure of the
boardinghouses. The boardinghouse keepers
were involved in two-way economic relationships
with the corporations, the boarders, and other
Domestic Ideology and Boardinghouse Economics 45
individuals and businesses in the community.
While it is often difficult to understand the
complex patterns of these relationships, several
points do appear. To start with the corporations,
the boardinghouse keepers were employees of
the corporation whose work augmented the
wages of the operatives by providing inexpensive
room and board. They also acted as an
intermediary between the corporation and the
workers within the predominant living
environment. While the duties of these people
in terms of enforcing company policy and
creating a "moral" living environment have
been partially delineated, the actual economic
relationship to the corporation has been
neglected. Trying to gain a better understanding
of these issues helps to create a fuller picture of
the boardinghouse system. Throughout this
discussion it must be realized that the
generalized patterns being described
undoubtedly had variations and exceptions.
Relationships with the Corporations
The corporations hired the boardinghouse
keepers, set the board rate they would receive,
and established policies on the services they
would provide. One policy of the company was
different board rates for males and females. For
example, corporate board rates in Lowell in 1881
were $1.85 per week for females and $2.90 per
week for males. Men were consistently charged
more, presumably with the expectation that they
would eat more food. What makes this so
interesting, however, is that even assuming a
difference in the amount of food consumed,
women seem to have been undercharged for
board. This is clearly seen in a report on
boarding services in Lawrence:
There is no reason why men should pay so much
more for board than women, and the rates should be
equalized; for it is the general testimony of the
boarding-house keepers that they would as soon
keep men for the same price, but have to charge men
more to help pay for the girls (MBSL 1875: 419).
It seems likely that this was, in part, an attempt
by the corporations to attract female operatives
to the boardinghouses. In the situation
described above, the artificially low rate for
women was made up by overcharging the male
boarders. This is only part of the story, however,
because it appears as if the corporations
sometimes made it a policy to preferentially
supplement the board of female employees by
making payments to the keepers. In Lawrence
in 1874, the rate was $1 per month per person,
and in Lowell in 1881, the rate was $0.05 for each
day the woman worked in the mill (MBSL 1875:
419, 1882: 295-296). Even by the 1870s and 1880s,
when immigrant family labor had largely
supplanted single female labor the corporations
still maintained policies that were preferential
towards female operatives.
It would be inaccurate to imply that only
female boarders were given artificially lowered
board rates. Since the corporations wanted
inexpensive board at their houses, they had to
support the keepers in some manner, a fact that
was not lost on the operatives. One Lowell
operative explained:
They [the corporations] pay their help well, and
reduce their boarding expenses by assuming a
portion of it themselves. All the mills pay their
boarding house keepers a certain sum to aid in
maintaining the excellence of the table, and reduce
the workingman's expenses (MBSL 1882: 288).
This seems initially to have taken the form of
direct payment by the corporation to the keeper
of a certain sum per person over and above the
set board rate (Center for History Now 1985: 126).
As the boardinghouse system changed during
the 19th century, the manner of supplementing
the boardinghouses seems to have changed as
well. An "old" operative described the changes:
The keeper. ..[used to] receive twenty-five cents per
head for each boarder. But finally the
dissatisfaction. ..became so great, owing to the fact
that those who could not find accomodation in the
corporation houses were compelled.. .to pay a
higher rate of board, that the corporations then
leased them to the keepers for merely nominal rent,
and gave them fuel and light, and the operatives
were charged a rate from eight to ten dollars a
month: on this plan the houses are now run (MBSL
1882: 288).
Though the changes that took place in the
boardinghouse system were complex and
related to a number of issues, several things are
clear from this commentary. In this instance it
appears as if a preliminary step in the corporate
divestiture of the boardinghouses was a process
of relaxing control of the facilities and putting
them more clearly under control of the
boardinghouse keepers, who rented the houses
from the corporation and charged a more
market-oriented rate of board. Nevertheless,
subsidy of these facilities still took place, though
less directly, with the corporate supply of fuel
and light, and the collection of only nominal
rents from the keepers. The practice of
corporate subsidy of the boardinghouses was
only a small part of the total economic relation
between the company and its keepers, but an
understanding of these practices helps to
address an important aspect of the corporate
relationship with its employees.
46 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Services to the Boarders
The services provided within the
boardinghouses is another topic that has not
received adequate attention. Little mention is
made of the day-to-day provision of food,
laundry, and lodging services, the inherent
purpose of the boardinghouses. Attempting to
delineate more clearly some of the structure of
these services can add a great deal of insight
into the physical conditions of life in the
boardinghouses. A fascinating example that
serves to point out just how much variation
existed in the quality of services provided to
boarders is a description of a special
boardinghouse run by the Merrimack
Corporation.
The design was to supply, at an advanced price,
better rooms, and better food and attendance, and
see if the operatives would pay the increased price.
The house was filled without trouble and when
visited, some fifty names were recorded of parties
who wished a room as soon as there was a vacancy.
The price for men is $3.50, for women $2.90, and
includes room, food, washing, and attendance, and
the use of a bath-room, there being one of the latter
on each floor (MBSL 1882: 295).
For purposes of comparison, the weekly board
rate in this house can be compared with rates of
$2.90 for men, and $1.85 for women, which were
the general corporate rates in Lowell at that time
(MBSL 1882: 292). What is so worthwhile about
this account is that it highlights the fact that
boarding in Lowell was not just a question of
finding a place to live, but was very much a
situation of paying for services and amenities
whose price and quality could vary. This adds
some depth to the understanding of the
boardinghouse system. Further, it provides a
starting place for looking at the various services
provided in the boardinghouses.
The best and most expensive boarding
situation provided a room, food, laundry,
attendance, and had an indoor bathroom on
each floor. Of all of these, only the last two were
features that do not seem to have been at all
available in regular corporation boardinghouses
at the same time. Indoor plumbing and
increased attendance were very likely amenities
that helped to fill the waiting list for this
boardinghouse. The other services are harder to
judge because the difference from other
boardinghouses are solely qualitative, as all the
boardinghouses provided rooms, and most
provided food service and laundry. Even
attendance can be thought of as something of a
qualitative difference, as boardinghouse keepers
were expected to provide a certain amount of
individual room cleaning for the boarders
(MBSL 1882: 292). Laundry service, however,
does seem to have varied among houses. In
some cases, description of laundry service
referred to "usual washing" or "ordinary
washing" (MBSL 1882: 292, 1875: 420). This
refers, in all likelihood, to the washing of work
clothes and bed linens, with the washing of dress
or other clothes left up to the boarder. In some
rare instances it seems that laundry was not
included in the board. At the Pemberton
boardinghouses in Lawrence women generally
did their own wash, even though their board rate
does not seem to have been lower (MBSL 1875:
420). Even with this very short discussion it is
clear that the boardinghouses in Lowell provided
a potentially multifaceted range of services.
Qualitative and quantitative variations in the
services available to boarders made a
boardinghouse more than just a place to sleep.
An examination of the boardinghouse services
must be considered as part of any attempt to
delineate the features of the boardinghouse
system in Lowell.
Conclusions
The 19th century was a period of rapid change
as urbanization and industrialization
contributed to changes in the nature and
perception of work and home. Boarding was one
type of living arrangement that expanded
greatly during this period and was important not
just as a living arrangement, but also as a source
of employment for women, especially in the
larger urban areas and growing industrial towns.
One of the most interesting aspects of
boardinghouse keeping is how it fit into
changing conceptions of work and home and the
middle class conceptions of appropriate work for
women. In a certain way, running a
boardinghouse was socially acceptable work for
women because it was an expansion of women's
work in the home. Societal concerns were also
mediated through the portrayal of
boardinghouse keepers as surrogate parents for
the boarders.
The massive institutionalized boardinghouses
of the Lowell system represent one extreme of
the range of possible types of boarding
situations. The boardinghouse keepers in Lowell
were involved in an economic situation with both
explicitly and implicitly defined relationships to
the corporations and their tenants. The patterns
these relationships took were influenced by a
variety of different factors, including the publicly
stated policies of the corporations about the
living arrangements they provided for their
employees. To look at this system only in this
manner, however, ignores the individual
Domestic Ideology and Boardinghouse Economics 47
decision-making processes of the
boardinghouse keepers. The decisions they
made are clearly related to social and economic
factors that influenced not only them, but the
individual households taking in boarders as well.
Ultimately, the similarities in the situation to
which these people were responding were
related to a broader framework of urban and
industrial expansion that was putting strains on
the household and causing changes in people's
living and working environments.
48 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Chapter 5
ARCHEOLOGY IN THE BACKLOTS OF BOOTT UNITS 45 AND 48:
HOUSEHOLD ARCHEOLOGY WITH A DIFFERENCE
by Mary C. Beaudry and Stephen A. Mrozowski
Introduction
The Archeology of Urban Lots
One of the joys of archeological research
occurs in those moments when thought can be
given to the nature of a place like the rear yard
of a 19th-century company boardinghouse, a
place where a hot summer evening might be
spent washing cloths or peeling potatoes or
smoking a pipe — passing time with countless
stories. It was in places like this that the
domestic side of the Industrial Revolution was
played out, away from the noise and clatter of
the mills and factories. Perhaps here, workers,
having finished their day's labor, might find time
to relax after their evening meal to talk with
people from different parts of New England — or
different parts of the world, for that matter.
Small though they were, the boardinghouse
yards were important places.
There is a certain quality that the
boardinghouse backlots of Lowell share with
similar spaces in other cities, in other times and
in other places. It is the intensity of use that is so
characteristic of urban areas that links the yards
of 19th-century Lowell with the tenement yards
of cities in Great Britain — e.g., 19th-century
Manchester, or 12th-century Dublin,
Southhampton, or Durham. In spite of the
differences that separate the urban industrial
centers of the 19th century and the preindustrial
cities of the preceding millennia, they share
curiously similar archeological records.
This stems in large part from the conditions
that are endemic to urban areas, where space is
limited and communities characterized by high
population density. What open space there is is
utilized for work, gardening, keeping livestock,
and for leisure (Braudel 1981: 495 ; Biddle 1976;
Macphail 1981; Hohenberg and Lees 1985;
Pendery 1978; Mrozowski 1987b). It is, in fact,
this intensive land use that some archeologists
have pinpointed as the characteristic that best
defines what separates urban from non-urban
communities (e.g., Staski 1987). The reliance
upon yard space as work space continues today
in many parts of the world. In many Asian
countries, for example, urban areas contain
fairly substantial tracts of land devoted to food
production (Douglas 1983). Even in the
industrialized nations of the west, urban gardens
dot the landscape of many major cities.
There are, of course, differences in the ways
urban space is used in the west today and the
ways it was utilized just a century ago. In this
instance, however, we are dealing with a question
of degree, not absolutes. Today's use of urban
yard space for recreation or gardening is
qualitatively different than the type of intensive
use similar space received in preindustrial cities.
One major dissimilarity surrounds the use of
yard space as a primary disposal area for human
waste and other refuse. In fact, one of the more
interesting aspects of the archeology of Lowell is
that it captures that period of major transition in
the history of cities when responsibility for water
and waste management shifted from the
individual to corporate or municipal entities.
Considering how ubiquitous waste and water
management facilities were in preindustrial
cities (e.g., Carver 1987; Hall and Ken ward 1982;
Beaudry 1986), the importance of the shift
should not be overlooked (cf. Honerkamp and
Council 1984). And, as our previous research in
Lowell has demonstrated, there are other
changes in the way yard space was utilized that
appear to have accompanied the transformation
of urban society during the second half of the
19th century (Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987b).
There are additional qualities that
characterize the archeological record of urban
communities. One of the most important is that
urban deposits are often the direct result of
short-term events (Schofield 1987; Beaudry 1987;
Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987b; Mrozowski 1984;
Praetzellis, Praetzellis, and Brown 1980). In
many instances these events are associated with
periods of domestic transition, when one
household replaces another, for example (cf.
Moran, Zimmer, and Yentsch 1982; Mrozowski
1984; Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987). In other
cases they can stem from community-wide
events such as plagues, fires, or the introduction
of new domestic technologies. So, while the
archeological record includes deposits resulting
from the long-term accumulation of refuse, that
record is often punctuated by the residues of
rapidly occurring events.
The role of human agency in shaping the
archeological record of urban communities is
49
50 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
paramount, but it is not total. The non-human
members of the urban environment are also
active participants in the formation of
archeological deposits. This is one of the
reasons we have employed an interdisciplinary
approach to the study of Lowell's urban lots.
Beyond what palynology can say about plant
communities, it is also one of the most important
tools the archeologist has to examine
archeological formation processes. Another
example is faunal analysis. The analysis of
animal remains should justifiably focus on the
issue of foodways at the boardinghouses, but it
should not ignore the remains of other species.
The presence of rodent skeletal material and
rodent-gnawed bone of other species furnishes
important evidence concerning the character of
the urban environment and the conditions that
obtained in the boardinghouses themselves
(Mrozowski et al. 1989). These are but two
examples of how the cross-fertilization of
different analytical techniques can serve to
illuminate the intricacies of the archeological
record of an industrial city like Lowell.
Urban Lots as Micro-environments
Besides the analytical rigor an
interdisciplinary approach can bring to urban
archeology, it also fosters an appreciation for the
social and ecological complexity of the urban
environment. Students of the city have always
recognized the social and spatial dimensions of
urban communities, but have had less affinity
for studying the city as an ecosystem except as a
metaphor (e.g., Park [1916] and Wirth [1938]
reprinted in Sennett 1969; cf. Douglas 1983).
Cities are in fact complex ecosystems which are
the product of human action and human values.
As such they are the material embodiment of
human values. At the same time our methods
alert us to the distinction drawn by Schiffer (1972,
1983, 1988) concerning the effects of both
cultural and natural forces on the formation of
the archeological record (cf. Dincauze 1987).
Only by looking at the urban lots of Lowell , or for
that matter any city, r.s the product of social and
ecological forces can we hope to forge a link
between the archeological record and human
behavior.
Use of Backlots and Formation of the
Archeological Record
We have several lines of evidence to pursue in
arriving at expectations of what the
archeological record of backlots such as those of
the Boott boardinghouses ought to be; the same
lines of evidence assist in interpreting what is
found. Perhaps the most compelling record is
photographic. Progressive reformers and others
made use of photography to underscore writings
about the conditions of workers' housing in late
19th- and early 20th-century industrial
communities. Margaret Byington's classic
study, Homestead: The Households of a Mill
Town (1910), is illustrated with photographs
taken by Lewis Hine, who specialized in
capturing the lives of working people on film.
Two of the Homestead, Pennsylvania, scenes are
especially poignant reminders that, despite their
necessary function as centers of a wide variety of
domestic chores and even of leisure activities,
boardinghouse backlots could be far from
pleasant places.
Figure 5-1 shows what was meant to be a
typical wash day at a boardinghouse. A woman
scrubs clothes on a washboard in a large wooden
tub set atop a smaller tub. Dirty laundry lies
scattered on the ground, which has an ersatz
paving of planks and miscellaneous boards.
Litter has accumulated against the back of the
building, beneath a crude wooden bench, and
along the fence line of the narrow passage
leading from the street into the backlot. Two
children sit quietly on the steps, cowed, no doubt,
by the presence of the photographer.
Figure 5-2 shows the back stoop and a portion
of the rear yard of another Homestead
boardinghouse. Here, again, boards cover areas
prone to traffic, and litter has accumulated in
almost every open spot. A tired-looking woman
eats a piece of fruit, and a child gazes solemnly
at the photographer. The scene is squalid, yet at
the window of the lower apartment there are lace
curtains and a flowcrbox — and the woman, with
dignity and beauty despite her surroundings,
wears a flower in her hair.
John Coolidge, author of Mill and Mansion
(1942), photographed backlots of New England
mill housing in the late 'teens and early '20s.
Most of these photographs have not been
published, however, but the negatives are in the
archives of the Museum of American Textile
History in North Andover, Massachusetts. In
Figures 5-3, 5-4, and 5-5 we have a sequence of
backlot scenes, the latter two of the same scene
several years apart. All are of workers' housing
in Somersworth, New Hampshire. Figure 5-3
shows a row of detached wooden housing,
possibly tenement duplexes. Each free-standing
house has two backlots fenced with a fairly open
and insubstantial post, pale, and rail picket
fence (none recently painted); every lot has an
umbrella-type carousel clothesline mounted on
a single post set into the ground. Each
Archeology in the Backlots 51
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52 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 5-2. Lewis Hine photograph of a Homestead, Pennsylvania, boardinghouse
backlot. (Reproduced from Byington 1910).
Archeology in the Backlots 53
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56 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
clothesline has a wedge-shaped apron raised
above the ground, serving as a platform to stand
on while hanging clothes. It is interesting to note
gardens and even fruit trees in some of these
lots, along with board-lined walkways and
ubiquitous weedy growth along fence lines and
untrafficked areas.
Figures 5-4 and 5-5 show the same seen a few
years apart. Here brick boardinghouse blocks
have open, unfenced yards, but the territory
allotted to each unit is indicated in part by the
regular placement of clotheslines. In the
foreground is a pen of some sort, an enclosure
for a pig, perhaps (it would do little to keep
chickens or dogs in place — Figure 5-4 shows a
dog tied to the pen). Litter has accumulated
against the buildings and outbuildings as well as
along the perimeter of the enclosure. Such
locations tend also to have weedy growth; this is
especially obvious in Figure 5-5. In the later
scene, a series of crocks and tubs with various ill-
fitting coverings are lined up along the fence of
the pen; these presumably served in some food
or water storage capacity. The later scene also
shows more broadcast litter.
The photographic evidence corroborates what
we would expect: boardinghouse backlots were
intensively used, utilitarian space. They served a
wide variety of functions; they were seldom
attractive, lacking in upkeep, and most often
muddy traps for lost and discarded items. They
nevertheless served social functions, as women
gathered to gossip (cf. the background of Figure
5-4) and children played near where their
mothers worked. Hence if women spent a great
deal of time doing chores in the backlots,
children probably spent considerable time there
as well. Time spent by men in the backlots was
far more likely to be leisure time — drinking and
card playing, perhaps — but might also have
included gardening, some animal tending, and,
in this century, tinkering with automobiles. The
importance of calling to mind the range of
activities that may have taken place in these
small spaces is to link the behaviors responsible
for the formation of the archeological record
with the various sorts of data recovered from the
backlots; it is too easy to lose sight of the human
dimension of people's day-to-day lives when
considering such abstract topics as
'socioeconomic status' or 'minimum number of
vessels.' Our aim is to link the data with
behaviors responsible for formation of the
archeological record; a site structure approach
permits us to interpret the archeological record
with a focus on the people who helped to create
it.
Boardinghouse Archeology
Quite a few historical archeologists have
excavated at urban boardinghouse sites in
North America, but the literature on such sites
remains ephemeral. For the most part, the
analytical approach to such sites has not differed
from that applied to other types of domestic
sites. This has involved attention to materials,
ceramics for the most part, excavated from
sealed features in the backlots of former
boardinghouses; the focus has been largely on
evaluating the socioeconomic status and /or
ethnic affiliation of residents of such structures.
DeCunzo's (1982, 1987) excavations of
tenements and boardinghouses in Patterson,
New Jersey, involved exhaustive documentary
research to establish the demographic and
ethnic make-up of the neighborhood in which
her site was located. The analysis of artifacts
from privies behind residences occupied by
different ethnic groups did not reveal ethnic
differentiation in ceramic purchase and use; De
Cunzo attributes this to the nature of the
material — ceramics were mass-produced, mass-
marketed, and relatively affordable to all. They
do not appear to have served as ethnic markers,
and their affordability means they do not in and
of themselves reflect socioeconomic standing of
consumers. Further, these issues become very
blurred in situations of mixed and multiple
residence at the same site, especially in places
such as boardinghouses. These were not only
home to many (families and otherwise), they
were often subject to high rates of transience.
Hence tying the archeological record to a
particular group or affiliation is difficult indeed.
Rockman, Harris, and Levin (1983) excavated
features behind what had been a private
boardinghouse in 19th-century New York City.
They report on the construction details of a
cistern containing fill from the boardinghouse
period of occupation and present a detailed
analysis of ceramics from this feature. The
analysis is aimed chiefly at interpreting the
socioeconomic class of the boardinghouse
residents, but addresses the question of
boardinghouse cuisine as well (Rockman, Harris,
and Levin 1983: 257). At this New York
boardinghouse, the ratio of serving bowls to
plates was small, perhaps reflecting a lack of
elaboration in table service — a phenomenon
also noted by Dutton for the Boott Mills
boardinghouse (Chapter 6, this volume). They
state in summarizing their analysis that in order
to understand such deposits properly, additional
comparative assemblages are needed. Sadly,
the present volume cannot offer directly
comparable material, for the majority of the
Archeology in the Backlots 57
Boott Mills material dates to the latter part of
the 19th and early 20th centuries.
Faulkner et al. (1978) conducted test
excavations at the site of a mid- to late 19th-
century Newburyport, Massachusetts,
waterfront boardinghouse that was occupied by
Irish immigrants. Artifacts were recovered from
deposits in what had been an alley rather than
from sealed features (cf. Figure 5-6). The
authors (Faulkner et al. 1978: 80) note that
The household goods found in the alley trash were
modest. ...Most of the table setting was imported
from England, although some pieces evidently came
from Ireland.... Most is plain, white ironstone....
Generally the appearance of the pottery is
functional, antiseptic, and even institutional.
These were commonplace, mass produced items
with not a hint of elegance.
The faunal remains from the Newburyport
boardinghouse included a great deal of fish
bones, which the authors link to the Catholic
background of the residents. Meat was
represented by commercially-butchered bones
that had been sawn or chopped into relatively
small pieces; these included many soup bones
as well as more choice cuts of meat. Also
present were a variety of personal objects and
children's toys. The material remains from this
site reflect the lifestyle and diet of people who
were not well off but who had hopes of moving
up the economic ladder into a more comfortable
existence.
The chief difference between private
boardinghouses and those owned by large
corporations — apart, of course, from the scale of
operation — is likely to have been the nature of
residency. For the most part, the Lowell
company boardinghouses did not house
families. This was probably true of many private
boarding situations, but private houses often
were family homes in the first place. This was
not the case in Lowell. Comparison between
private boardinghouses and company
boardinghouses cannot be made without
attending to these differences. There are,
however, some studies that treat corporate
boardinghouses. In our first report on the Boott
Mills study (Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987a), we
noted the work of Robert Schuyler and his
students at other Lowell boardinghouses.
Jed Levin's on-going analysis of material from
this project is producing interesting results on
the economic basis of class development in mid-
century Lowell (e.g., Levin 1989). His study will
eventually result in a full treatment of the
artifacts recovered from deposits much earlier
than those we report on in this volume. The sites
were corporate boardinghouses, however, and
hence in this regard will provide suitably
comparable data for the present study.
As noted in the introduction to this volume, we
found it useful to develop a model for
interpreting the Boott boardinghouses as a
particular form of household. Following is a
discussion of the rationale for interpreting the
Boott boardinghouses as corporate households
sharing many features of conventional
households yet possessing some unique
characteristics engendered by the special
conditions at Lowell.
The Boardinghouse as a Corporate
Household
Archeological study of the backlots of the
Boott Mills boardinghouses in Lowell,
Massachusetts, presented a special challenge
for household analysis. We approached them
both as reflections of corporate policy and as the
arenas for workers' domestic and leisure
activities. The latter aspect of the study has
tackled the concept of the household as it
applies to corporate living arrangements such as
the situation found in company boardinghouses.
The following discussion is drawn from Beaudry
and Mrozowski 1988 as well as from work in
progress.
It is of course true that the residential make-
up of a boardinghouse can seldom be viewed in
the familial sense normally employed to
characterize households. The problem is one of
how appropriately to define the corporate
household. As with other sorts of households, it
probably is best viewed in terms of its structure
(i.e., its internal composition and the
relationships among its residents) and the
activities it performs. Seldom, however, is
kinship the significant variable in the residential
composition of the boardinghouse, although
related individuals may be present. Laslett's
analytical synthesis of ideas about families and
households reveals that scholars have tended to
avoid a definition of the household as being tied
strictly to kinship because there is considerable
variation in family form both within cultures and
cross-culturally (Laslett 1972: 1-89). Therefore
the definition of the household as a "co-resident
domestic group" of "those who share the same
physical space for the purposes of eating,
sleeping, taking rest and leisure, growing up,
childrearing, and procreating" (Laslett 1972: 24)
is for the most part, as applicable to the
corporate household as it is to that of more
conventional domestic groups.
Laslett further attempts to avoid confusion
between the terms family and household by
58 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Archeology in the Backlots 59
introducing a new term, houseful, to refer to the
presence under one roof of lodgers, boarders,
and visitors, whom he terms inmates, in
conjunction with family members. Thus a
houseful "means all persons inhabiting the
same set of premises," or "the crew of a single
building" (Laslett 1972: 36). In Laslett's scheme
the boardinghouse is a houseful, because it is in
no way a family. Yet in the sense that a
boardinghouse was a co-resident group whose
members "share the same physical space for
purposes of eating, sleeping, and taking rest and
leisure," it was a household. Further, its
membership shared in contributing to the
economic viability of the household. Although
the boardinghouse often had a fluctuating
composition because of worker transience, the
nature of its composition changed very little as a
result of such fluidity. Transience in residency
may have been a characteristic of these
'housefuls/ but the keeper, the household head,
often enjoyed a very long tenure and provided
continuity in the midst of change. Thus while
recognizing the ways in which board inghouses
differed markedly from conventional
households, this study conceives of them as
corporate households as a means of providing a
conceptual and theoretical framework in which
to interpret them from an archeological
perspective. In this way boardinghouses can be
examined in terms of how their company-
controlled structure affected the domestic lives
of their residents and the nature of
boardinghouse keeping as a social and
economic activity.
The structure of the corporate households of
the Lowell boardinghouses was very consistent
in most regards. In the early years — the 'mill
girl' era — it was common for a single unit to
house only women and, in a few instances, only
men. Mixed residency was not prevalent until
late in the 19th century. The result was more
often than not a female-headed household
made up almost solely of females. Although
their ages might vary considerable, the women
making up these households worked at quite
similar jobs, and thus there was little
occupational variation (and hence only small
differences in income). The household residents
contributed equally to what may be termed
household income; that is, each person living in
the boardinghouse had the cost of room and
board subtracted from her weekly pay before
she or he received it. The keeper in turn
received a lump sum from the corporation and
was expected to run the household on this
income alone and to keep detailed, accurate
accounts of all household expenditures.
The boardinghouse keeper functioned as
head of household and, whether male or female,
was responsible for feeding household
members, for day-to-day care and cleaning of
the premises, for maintaining order and
discipline, and for upholding morality within the
boardinghouse 'family.' The keeper was the
primary decision maker when it came to
household purchasing patterns; the nature of
the boardinghouse system prompted keepers to
economize in every possible area (e.g., in
purchasing and preparing food, in selecting
glassware and dishes from which to serve meals,
and in purchasing or renting the furnishings for
the boardinghouse). This is where kinship often
played an important role, for boardinghouse
keepers took advantage of networks formed
through kin ties in the larger community. In
other words, they transacted business with a
brother who was a provisioner, a brother-in-law
who was a grocer, and so forth (Landon 1987).
For these reasons, patterns of consumer
behavior for the corporate household were an
adaptation to a rigidly-defined system that
engendered a somewhat unique social structure,
but one that nevertheless resembled
conventional households in many ways.
Personal (e.g., of clothing, hats, jewelry, patent
medicines, and so forth) as well as corporate
(e.g., of food, serving wares and utensils, and
furnishings) purchase and consumption
patterns can be delineated. What is more,
evidence for the two contrasting areas of
consumer behavior can be recovered
archeologically in the form of faunal remains,
glass fragments, pottery sherds, etc., for the
latter pattern and in the form of beads, buttons,
costume jewelry remains, hair combs, smoking
pipes, marbles, and so forth for the former. The
corporate pattern was initiated by the keeper, an
individual whose choices were governed by the
nature the boardinghouse system. If the keeper
hoped to make a go of a boardinghouse, she or
he had to stretch the allotment from the
corporation as far as it would go. Clever and
careful keepers could turn a profit by
economizing on household purchases and by
bending or flouting company rules when they
could.
On the other hand, the personal objects
recovered archeologically reflect individual
choices — purchases made by residents of the
corporate household. They do not serve as
indicators of status or economic position, for, as
mentioned above, the nature of the corporate
household provided little or no room for such
internal variation in the co-resident domestic
group. Our analysis of such materials has
60 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
focused on leisure time and worker response to
the corporate environment (cf. Jones 1977; Bond
1988). The contrasting patterns of corporate and
personal purchase and use of material culture
revealed through analysis of items recovered
from the boardinghouse backlots can illuminate
poorly-documented aspects of workers' lives and
prevent us from succumbing to the "temptation
to translate archival silence into historical
passivity" (Jones 1977: 163).
Excavation Strategy
Summary of Previous Archeology
As part of the residential component of the
project, initial archeological investigations in the
Boott Mills study consisted of a brief phase of
exploratory testing in the fall of 1985 in the Locks
and Canals parking lot destined to become the
Lowell Boarding House Park. Four 1 m x 3 m test
trenches were placed at locations determined by
juxtaposing the 1892 Sanborn Fire Insurance
map over a modern map of the parking lot
layout (while designed to encounter
boardinghouse features, the test trenches
nevertheless had to coincide with existing
parking spaces; see Beaudry and Mrozowski
1987a for a full discussion of the results of
testing). Measurements made off of the
restored boardinghouse in accord with the scale
of the Sanborn map proved highly accurate as
indicators for placing test units that could target
features beneath the parking lot surface. Figure
5-7 shows the footprints of the former Boott
boardinghouses superimposed on a map of the
Locks and Canals parking lot (since turned into
the Lowell Boarding House Park) and indicates
the areas of testing and excavation.
During the summer of 1986, a two-week
investigation in the backlot of the Massachusetts
Mill side of the Kirk Street Agents' house duplex
provided an opportunity for detailed
investigation of the rear yard of a middle-class
supervisor's home. Despite the brief field
season, approximately 30% of the backlot was
explored. No sealed features (e.g., pits or
privies) relating to occupation by agents'
families were discovered, but the built-up soil
strata of the backlot proved rich in artifactual
material as well as contextual data derived from
pollen, soil chemistry, phytolith, and macrofossil
evidence.
The contextual data were used in two ways.
First the pollen, plant macrofossil, and phytolith
data were used to reconstruct changes in plant
communities over time in the yard of the Agents'
House. These data, combined with the results of
soils analysis, provided important information
concerning the development of yard deposits
and, by extension, the archeological record. This
has proven to be indispensable to efforts to
correlate individual strata with particular
households.
The fact that a great deal of information about
successive households and land use at the
Agents' House could be gleaned from soil strata
helps to dispel the widespread notion that, at
urban sites, only the contents of sealed features
are of analytical or interpretive merit. The data
derived from the investigations are presented in
detail in a full-length monograph on the
excavations (Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987b).
Archeology in the Boardinghouse Backlots
In the fall of 1986, the Boott boardinghouse
backlots again became the focus of
archeological attention. This five-week effort
involved exposure of two complete backlots, that
of Boott unit #48, an end tenement for
supervisory personnel, as well as that of #45, a
'typical' boardinghouse. These two lots were
chosen both because they offered a contrast
between yard use behind the boardinghouses
versus that behind family-occupied tenements
and because the boardinghouse block in which
these units were located had been torn down
earlier in the 20th century than most of the other
blocks. Thus, it was reasoned, they had been
part of the archeological record longest and,
more important, had not seen extended use as
apartments or warehouses, as had many of the
other boardinghouse blocks.
Each boardinghouse and each rear tenement
had an enclosed backlot with a woodshed
housing a privy and used as well for storing
wood, coal, and garbage awaiting collection. The
small yards (ca. 10 m deep by 8 m wide), two of
which were fully exposed and sampled during
the archeological project, were used chiefly for
service purposes such as laundering and drying
clothes. Residents of boardinghouses had
access to the privy through a rear door in the
building's service area (in the case of unit #46,
for example, excavation revealed remains of a
rough brick-paved path apparently leading from
the rear of the house to the privy shared by units
#45 and #46). Most boarders were responsible
for personal laundry, although the keeper
provided linens and so forth. Presumably the
keeper and her helpers made most use of the
boardinghouse backlots, even though boarders
had ready access to them. The tenement
backlots were more likely the domain of
overseers' or skilled workers' wives when the
Archeology in the Backlots 61
prescribed arrangement (i.e., occupation by a
nuclear family) obtained; unit #48, however,
initially housed an unmarried man and two
other males. In such situations it seems likely
that the men employed a non-resident
housekeeper to do the cooking and cleaning.
The broad area exposure (i.e., of two 10 x 10 m
blocks, designated as Operation A and
Operation B, respectively) revealed the backlots
fully, allowing for all features — pits, postholes, ell
foundations, privy, well, drains, etc. — to be
recorded in plan (Figures 5-8, 5-9 and 10). Some
of these features were fully excavated, while
others were sampled, and samples of yard
deposits, where they existed, were taken.
The asphalt surface of the parking lot was
broken up with a backhoe; a bobcat was used to
remove the rubble and to scrape off some of the
sand bedding for the asphalt. When Operation
A was opened, the bobcat operator gouged too
deeply in places (the deposits were right below
the sand). When Operation B was opened, he
was directed to remove asphalt only and we
shoveled off the sand. Yard deposits seemed
more intact in Operation B than in A, but the
difference in opening them is not wholly
accountable for this; the Operation A backlot
appears to have been subjected to more
scraping that the Operation B backlot. Good
evidence for this was that in B, a layer of window
glass formed a surface that sealed off the
deposits; no such demolition-produced seal was
found in A, nor did A have any appreciable
accumulation of soil or other material (e.g.,
refuse) above the substratum. Therefore some
differences between the lots are attributable to
the razing of the houses ca..l934, use of the area
as a coal yard until ca. 1950, and subsequent
preparation of the area for a parking lot.
Once the parking lot surface was removed, the
sand bedding was shovelled off; subsequent
strata were trowelled or shovel-schnitted and
screened through 1/4-in hardware mesh. As
noted above, our aim was to provide broad area
exposure in order to map the features of the
backlots, hence we concentrated on uncovering
and recording features rather than excavating
them. In Operation A, we excavated several
features or portions of features; fewer features
were explored in Operation B because we ran
out of time. This was especially disappointing, as
the Operation B backlot was much richer in yard
deposits than A, and these had been sealed by a
layer of window glass deposited either during
demolition or, more likely, when the windows
were boarded up during conversion of the block
to a warehouse. Another disappointment was
that we were unable to take overall photographs
of Operation B. On the last day of field work, the
area was cleaned and the crew awaiting the
National Park Service cherry picker loaned to us
before we closed Operation A when word was
received that Congress had failed to pass a
holding resolution to permit the government to
operate without an approved budget. All Park
Service employees were sent home at noon that
day, and we were left with a very tidy site we
could photograph only from atop our ladder or
van. The plan map of Operation B, along with a
few close-up photographs of features, provide
the illustrations for our discussion of this area.
Following are summary descriptions of the
features uncovered in each excavation area.
The discussion first treats Operation A, the
backlot of Boott tenement #48, and then moves
to a discussion of Operation B, the backlot of
Boott boardinghouse #45. It should be noted
that features were numbered as they were
encountered, beginning with the testing phase in
1985, so the numbers do not follow a sequence
within the excavation areas. Features 1-14 were
all uncovered during the initial testing phase
and are discussed in Beaudry and Mrozowski
1987a. Operation A is illustrated in plan in
Figures 5-8 and 5-9; Operation B in Figure 5-10.
Operation A
Feature 15, 0N2W, level 1: Cobble Surface (?)
This grouping of stones was tentatively
identified as a cobble surface when first
uncovered. It consisted of five stones roughly in
line extending north-south for ca. 1 m along the
southern edge of this unit. This feature lies ca. 2
m outside of the tenement backlot, south of its
former fence line, in an area that would have
been the walkway along French Street. Whether
this alignment of stones formed portion of a
bedding for the walkway, served as a rough curb
along the edge of the street, or is simply
redeposited material resulting from utility
installations along French Street is unclear.
Feature 16/42 , 8N2W, level 3: Cess pit (?)
Feature 16 was identified as a rubbish pit in
the northwest corner of unit 8N2W. It measured
ca. 52 x 53 cm; its fill was a dark greyish brown
(10YR 3/2) fine sand with pebbles, some wood,
and a great deal of coal. The excavator noted
that some of the rotten wood appeared to have
been logs or planks running north-south and
used to cover the artifact-rich deposit. This
feature lies directly behind a brick drainage
feature (feature 36), possibly a cesspit. It is
62 The Board inghouse System as a Way of Life
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Archeology in the Bacldots 63
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Figure 5-8. Plan of Operation A, the rear yard of Boott unit 48, a supervisors tenement.
Residents of the street-facing tenement did not have direct access to the backlot and its
privy but had to enter through the gate opening (features 21 and 22, bottom center, are
post holes of this gate) onto French street. (Drawing by David H. Dutton.)
64 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Figure 5-9. Plan of Operation B, the rear yard of Boott unit 45 and a small portion of unit
44 (at top); both were boardinghouses. (Drawing by David H. Dutton.)
Archeology in the Backlots 65
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66 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
located in the same area of the backlot as the
cess pool of the Bay State boardinghouses shown
in plan in Figure 7-11.
It further seems likely that it was inside of the
former woodshed. The stones directly south of it
may have been part of the woodshed
'foundation/ if such a term can be employed to
describe what was in fact a most flimsy and
ephemeral construction. Hence the wood may
have been part of the flooring for the woodshed
(if indeed it had a floor — the presence of the
privy suggests it might have). This would mean
the artifacts accumulated beneath the
woodshed in a crawlspace. On the other hand, if
it lay outside the shed, the wood may have
served as some sort of covering for the cesspit or
as a platform or surface to permit foot traffic in
an otherwise mucky area.
Feature 17, 8N2W, level 3: Rubbish pit/posthole
(?)
This feature, in the northeast corner of the
unit, was a round pit ca. 18 x 40 cm in size. It had
two zones of fill; the upper fill was a fine, very
dark greyish brown silty sand (10YR 3/2) with
pebbles, while the lower zone consisted of a fine
pale brown sand (10YR 6/3). The two zones were
separated by a lens of ash. A contiguous column
of 17 pollen samples was taken from this feature
but not analyzed for the present report. It is
unclear whether this filled-in hole or pit once
held a post, as no clear post mold showed up in
the profile. It does lie along the boundary
separating the tenement backlot from that of the
adjacent boardinghouse, however, and this
would have been a likely spot for a post support
either for the end of the tenement section of the
woodshed or for the fence separating the two
yards.
Feature 18, 8N2W, level 3:
mold (?)
Rubbish pit /post
This round pit measured ca. 65 cm in diameter
and contained what seemed to be a post mold
ca. 15 cm in diameter. The fill was a mixture of
find brown sands. This may had been a post
support for the western edge of the woodshed (it
aligns roughly with features 19 and 48 some 7.5
m to the south, as well as with feature 46). If so
interpreted, this permits the woodshed a total
depth of only ca. 2.5 m; it seems more likely that
features 16/39, 20, and 24 are evidence of the
western edge of the shed.
Feature 19, 0N2W, level 2: Posthole
Features 19, 21, and 22 all were postholes that
had once held posts for the fence enclosing the
tenement; the southern run of the fence had a
gate permitting access to the backlot from the
street. Feature 19 had held a regular post, while
features 20 and 21 had held gateposts. The
feature, ca. 15 cm in diameter, was not
excavated. The top of the posthole showed
stones set in a matrix of dark brown sandy silt
mottled with orange and grey sand.
Feature 20, 4N4W: Stone post support
This flat rectangular rock, ca. 30 x 40 cm, had
been quarried. It appeared to have served as a
base for a post supporting the woodshed
superstructure; surrounding the rock was a dark
brown sandy matrix (10YR 4/3) with a great deal
of rotten wood, charcoal, and chunks of what
appeared to be marine clay.
Feature 21, 1N4W: Posthole
This large posthole, the southern gatepost, was
roughly oblong in shape, measuring ca. 25 x 33
cm in plan and extending ca. 80 cm in depth
below grade. The fill of the post hole was a
mottled yellow-grey silty sand with dark brown
mottling and contained a large number of brick
fragments. The lack of a clearly visible mold
indicates that the post probably had been pulled
out, although a few bits of rotten wood were
recovered, and the excavator noted that bricks
and stones seemed to have been packed around
what had been the post.
Feature 22, 1N6W: Posthole
This posthole, the northern gatepost, was
essentially round (ca. 40 cm in diameter) and
was dug into the sandy substratum. Its fill
consisted of dark brown silt (10YR 3/3) with tan
clay inclusions as well as brick and stones. The
excavator interpreted the latter as support
packing for the post. A discoloration that may
have been a post mold showed up at the top of
the feature but did not continue through the
entire profile; this presumably means that the
post was removed before it decomposed fully.
Feature 23, 2N8W, 2N6W, 1N8W: Bulkhead
entry
The stairwell for the bulkhead entry into the
cellar and its fill was designated as feature 23.
Archeology in the Backlots 67
Figure 5-11. Feature 23, the bulkhead entry. Note that entry into cellar has been
blocked up. Camera faces west. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.)
68 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of life
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Archeology in the Backlots 69
(Figures 5-8, 5-9, 5-11, and 5-12). The stairwell,
an opening measuring ca. 1.96 m x 2.7 m, was
constructed of dry-laid quarried granite; it had
been filled completely with coal ash/slag and
furnace scale of a dark greyish brown color. A
series of six granite steps extended downwards
to the cellar opening, which had been blocked
up with firebrick and stone at some time before
the building was destroyed (the fill of the
bulkhead contained a great deal of the firebrick
razed from this partition when the structure was
demolished). Presumably the entry was blocked
up to prevent break-ins and pilferage when the
building was converted to a warehouse.
Feature 24, 2N4W, level 1: Shallow depression
or lens
This shallow lens (ca. 3 cm in depth, ca. 15 cm
in diameter) of dark sandy silt with charcoal
(10YR 3/2, very dark greyish brown) contained a
high concentration of artifacts (e.g., ceramics,
stoneware, glass, a button) and a peach pit (see
Mrozowski, Chapter 12, this volume). It seems to
have been a hollow depression in the yard
surface that became filled with debris.
Feature 27, 2N8W, 4N8W: Planting hole
This irregularly-shaped feature (ca. 60 cm x
110 cm x 60 cm) near the corner formed by the
juncture of the bulkhead entry and the back wall
of the boardinghouse, was a planting hole
(Figures 5-8, 5-10, 5-13). It was filled with dark
brown (7.5 YR 3/4) sandy loam with orange
mottles and some small fist-sized stones. In
addition to many ceramic fragments, it
contained the remains of an extensive root
network from the plant or plants that had grown
there.
Feature 28, 4N4W: Clothesline support?
A large rock deemed a probable base for a
post or pole supporting a clothesline or other
yard feature, feature 28 had a ca. 5-cm diameter
hole bored into its center. The hole contained
corroded iron fragments. The stone itself was
light grey granite, ca. 48 cm x 77 cm. It is
possible that the pole or pipe inserted into the
drilled hole supported a flimsy version of the
umbrella-style carousel clotheslines that can be
seen in Figures 5-2, 5-3, and 5-4.
Feature 25, 2N10W, 0N1OW: Cellar fill
The area of cellar fill behind the blocked-up
bulkhead entry (feature 23) lay south of an
internal partition wall of the cellar and provided
a relatively safe area in which to sink a test into
the cellar fill (Figures 5-8, 5-10, 5-13). The
excavated portion of cellar fill measured ca. 1.30
m north-south by ca. 1.50 m east-west by ca. 70-
80 cm in depth below grade. The fill had very
little soil and consisted chiefly of rubble: bricks;
mortar; slate fragments; plaster; window glass;
and various corroded iron objects, including
portions of gutters, downspouts, and pipes from
the building's plumbing system. The excavation
revealed that while the cellar foundation was set
on a footing of granite (cf. Beaudry 1987: fig. 7-9),
the cellar floor was nothing more than fine white
glacial sand.
Feature 26, 0N1OW: Builder's trench
This feature was interpreted as a portion of the
construction trench for the bulkhead entry; it ran
east-west along the southern edge of feature 23;
only the portion lying outside the stone apron
surrounding the bulkhead was excavated. This
area measured ca. 20 cm wide x 2 m long; the fill
was a very dark greyish brown sandy silt (10YR
3/2) and contained very few artifacts.
Feature 29/42, 4N4W: Posthole and post mold
This posthole still contained the deteriorated
remains of a wood post in its center (it is labeled
42 on Figure 5-5). The post hole measured ca. 27
cm x 39 cm in top plan (it was not excavated).
The upper fill was observed to be a very dark
greyish brown (10YR 3/2) fine sand. The
post/post mold was surrounded by various
cobbles and bricks. This posthole was placed
almost exactly in the center of the backlot. It
also is a likely candidate for a clothesline
support. Directly west of this feature was a large
area of darkened soil; this was not given a
feature designation and was not explored in any
detail, but it may have been a pit of some kind or
simply an area that had been repeatedly
trodden during use of the clothesline. Note that
in Figures 5-2, 5-3, and 5-4, there are special
platforms beneath the clotheslines. These would
have made it easier for women to hang out
washing when the ground beneath the line was
unpleasantly muddy to stand on. The platforms
no doubt also permitted shorter people to reach
the lines without stretching on tip-toe.
70 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Archeology in the Backlots 71
Feature 30, 10W range of units: Back wall of
boardinghouse block
The back wall of the boardinghouse was given
a feature designation that was also applied to fill
west of it over the rubble fill of the cellar
foundation (Figures 5-8, 5-10, 5-13). Two bricks
wide, the wall measured ca. 60 cm wide at this
level (the granite sills and the foundation proper
being much wider — see Figure 5-9, where
feature 30 included some displaced sill stones).
The rubble was exposed but not excavated; the
matrix in which the bricks, mortar, plaster, etc.,
occurred was a mottled sand and loam, with dark
orange, red, dark brown, and light olive grey soils
as well as glass fragments, pottery and ceramics,
and rodent bones (see Chapter 9).
Feature 31, 8N10W: Internal partition wall
This brick wall segment appeared to be a
portion of an interior partition wall inside the
tenement and in Boott Unit #46, which was
adjacent to the #48 tenement and shared its well
(Feature 43; Figures 5-8, 5-10, 5-13). The
partition was at least two brick courses wide,
running north-south; it extended south from
feature 32, the party wall between the two units,
before turning a right angle and heading west. It
is unclear what function this wall served in terms
of internal room divisions in the building; it does
not appear to have been a bearing wall.
sequence of ell construction for Boott workers'
housing. Note that the ell (feature 50) behind
#45, the boardinghouse, was of greater length in
plan.
Feature 34, 6N8W, 8N8W: Brick drainbox
This feature ran diagonally southwest-
northeast across the ell, linking the well with the
back of the boardinghouse. It was a brick
drainbox, ca. 18-19 cm wide, formed of strechers
mortared together atop brickbats placed on
edge to form the box. The drain carried a 1-in
lead pipe from the well, presumably into the
tenement kitchen or a cistern below it. The pipe
had been installed as part of the original
construction of the well and boardinghouse
complex.
Feature 35, 8N4W: Pit
This feature was roughly oblong in shape, with
a number of stones measuring ca. 20-25 cm x ca.
10-15 cm in its southeast corner. The fill of the
feature was a highly organic loam (10YR 3/3,
dark brown); it appeared to have been lined with
grey clay. Although it was not fully excavated, a
portion of the fill was sampled,. Artifacts were
numerous in this fill. This feature is most likely a
cesspit or a portion of the cesspit complex; see
discussions of features 16/39 and 36.
Feature 32, 8N10W: Party wall
This stone and brick segment of the party wall
between the tenement and boardinghouse #46
was designated as feature 32. Feature 31
abutted this wall north and south. The part wall
was 40 cm wide; granite stones provided the level
bearing surface upon which bricks had been
mortared (traces of mortar remained on the
exposed stones) to form the above-grade portion
of this wall.
Feature 33, 6N6W, 6N8W, 8N8W: Ell
foundation
This ashlar construction, essentially a crude
assembly of unmortared stones in a shallow
trench, served as the foundation for the ell of the
tenement (Figures 5-8, 5-10, 5-13, 5-14) There
was no evidence of vent holes for a crawlspace,
but there undoubtedly was some open space
beneath the floor of the ell in which refuse had
accumulated. This ell is what Clancey (1987a: 25)
described as a "stubby ell" when discussing the
Feature 36, 8N4W: Brick drip paving
This feature consisted of two rows of brickbats
set flat and sloping inwards toward two rows of
brick set lengthwise on end. It measured 40 cm x
50 cm and apparently had served as a drip
paving flanked on either side by cesspits
(feature 16/39 to the east and feature 35 to the
west; see discussions of each of these features).
Feature 37, 8N6W: Brick drain box
This rectangular brick drain box was a
downspout for collecting roof runoff, probably
from the ell. It measured 52 cm x 61 cm external
dimension, 31 cm x 24 cm internal dimension.
The downspout fed into a stoneware utility pipe
1.3 m below grade. Its fill, which contained many
artifacts (including a broken cast iron coal grate,
crown bottle caps, and a peach pit), was a black
sandy loam (10YR 2/1).
72 The Board inghouse System as a Way of Life
,m
■ J*
Figure 5-14. Detail of Operation A showing features 33, 34, 43, 37, and 44. Only a portion
of feature 44 was excavated; the trench continues around the corner of the ell
foundation and is cut by feature 38, a planting hole. Camera faces south. (Photograph
by Paul S. Giblin.)
Archeology in the Backlots 73
Feature 38, 4N8W: Post hole/Post mold
At its surface this feature appeared as a thin
deposit of brick chops and mortar with an
occasional half brickbat, ca. 65 cm x 80 cm. After
being taken down a bit, it still had no clear edge
definition; a possible post mold did show up in
the center of the hole, which became better
defined as the excavation proceeded deeper.
The hole/mold narrowed down to 33 cm x 40 cm
at its base. The presumed post mold actually
consisted of olive yellow (2.5Y 6/6) fine sand with
small gravel and pebbles; the fill of the hole was
a mottled "strong" brown (7.5YR 5/8). This may
have been a post hole for a scaffolding of some
kind, perhaps a crude trellis. It cut into feature
44 (see discussion below), which may account for
difficulties over definition of its boundaries
during excavation. Feature 38 may also have
simply been a planting hole.
Feature 39, see feature 16 discussion
Feature 44, 6N6W, 8N6W: Drain pipe trench
This feature was the trench dug to install the
drain pipe leading from the downspout drain
box (Feature 37) around the corner of the ell and
into the back of the tenement. The fact that the
trench extended this far was not recognized until
we were able to view the site from the cherry
picker when closing photographs were taken.
This in part is why it was not fully excavated; time
constraints would not have permitted full
excavation in any event. The trench was ca. 50
cm in width; the excavated portion extended for
ca. 1.30 m north-south, parallel to the rear wall of
the ell. The trench fill was very mixed, but
consisted chiefly of a dark yellow brown sand
with gravel and pebbles. It also contained many
artifacts, including glass bottle fragments,
ceramics and pottery, nails, crown bottle caps,
and broken ceramic drain pipe fragments. The
drain pipe was encountered 30 cm below grade;
as noted above, the pipe was glazed stoneware.
A hole in the top of the pipe had been "patched"
by wedging two bricks into the hole. How
effective this was is open to question.
Features 40, 41, lenses that proved not to be
features
Feature 42:, see feature 29 discussion
Feature 43, 8N6W: Well
This circular brick well had an inside diameter
of 91 cm. Its fill was excavated to a depth of 1.06
cm below grade in arbitrary 20-cm increments
(levels A, B, C, D, E). The matrix was a mottled
olive grey and dark yellow brown silty sand. It
contained a fair number of artifacts, but these
amounted to nothing when compared to the
artifact-laden fill of the well behind the
boardinghouse (feature 2, described in Beaudry
1987: 90-98). A lead pipe extended down into the
well after entering it ca. 50 cm below grade; the
pipe fed into the tenement through feature 34, a
brick drain box. This well had been filled with
clean fill rather than the refuse and coal ash
used to fill feature 2. Seemingly this is evidence
that whoever the corporation employed to fill the
tenement well abided by the orders of the Lowell
Board of Health's regulations regarding such fill
(cf. Bell 1987a: 62)
Feature 45, 4N0W, 4N2E: Privy vault
This stone-lined privy consisted of a rectangle,
ca. 1.90 m x 2.50 m, filled with coal cinder,
furnace scale, and ash, and an assortment of
early 20th-century artifacts as well as large
stones pushed in during demolition of the upper
portions of the feature. Two cast-iron vent pipes
emerged from the depths of the feature, which
also had a large wooden support beam in its
northwest corner. It was excavated in three
levels. Level A was the coal cinder and ash from
the top of the feature down to 70 cm below grade.
Beneath this lay many large blocks and orange
grey sand. The excavator noted that the fill of
coal ash appeared to be interspersed with
household sweepings. The wooden post may
have been the back of the woodshed, or the
support for the rear part of the privy
superstructure.
Level B contained ashlar rubble, large slag
and cinder fragments, and medium brown soil.
One concentration of cinders in the northwest
corner contained a number of whole whiskey
bottles, a woman's shoe sole fragment, tar paper,
and tin can fragments, as well as an intact
enamelled tin chamber pot. Level C, the base or
bottom of the privy, encountered at 2.10 m below
grade, was a grey sand interbedded with grey silt.
Some idea of the appearance of such
accommodations as this Boott privy can be
gotten by examining a photograph included by
74 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
*
Figure 5-15. Early 20th-century photograph of the interior of a tenement water closet in
Lowell worker housing. (Reproduced from Kenngott 1912.)
Archeology in the Backlots 75
Kenngott in The Record of a City (1912; Figure 5-
15); it needs no commentary.
Feature 46, 4N0W: Bottle dump outside privy
Just west of the privy foundation, a small cache
of four bottles (Figure 7-1; see Chapter 7 for a
detailed discussion of the bottles) was
uncovered; it was given a separate feature
designation. It would appear that the bottles
had been deposited in a hollow, beneath the
floor of the woodshed or under a step leading
into the privy vault chamber. The bottles were in
a triangular area, ca. 40 cm x 1.26 cm x 16 cm, of
dark yellowish brown fine sandy loam (10YR 4/6)
with very dark greyish brown mottles (10YR 3/3)
and bits of decayed wood. The feature also
produced charcoal, coal ash, oyster shell,
whiteware, wire nails, two buttons, and lamp
chimney and window glass.
Feature 47, 8N0W: Flat stone footings
A feature number was given to a
concentration of flat stones in the northeast
corner of the operation; several of these formed
a line ca. 25 cm wide by ca. 1.5 m long. These
were in a varied matrix of dark brown sand and
silt (10YR 3/3) with decayed wood. Presumably
the stones had formed part of the footings for
the woodshed.
Feature 49, 4N2W, 6N2W: Rectilinear pit
This elongated, rectilinear soil stain extended
north-south through the midline of units 4N2W
and 6N2W. The south 1/3 was bisected and
removed in an attempt to learn its
function /purpose, but excavation did little to
shed light on this. The feature was ca. 49 cm
wide by ca. 1.16 m long; its fill was very mixed,
hard packed for the first 20 cm, loose and
crumbly further down. It consisted of
innumerable small lenses that looked like
shovels-full thrown in from a mixed back dirt pile
or the like. The fill seemed sparse in artifacts,
but it contained window glass, clear and brown
bottle glass, clear lamp chimney glass, nails,
small ceramic sherds, wood fragments, mortar,
coal, brick, and a tin can (as well as some very
large boulders) at the base of excavation.
Excavation was halted at ca. 90 cm below
grade — this did not appear to be the absolute
bottom, but time did not permit further work
(and the excavator could reach no deeper into
the pit, even with the long-handled ladle used to
remove the last 10 cm of fill).
Operation B
Feature 50, 17N 6W: Ell Foundation
This feature is the foundation for the
boardinghouse ell. It was constructed of slate
with two small vent holes placed in the north and
south walls. (Figures 5-9, 5-16). The vent hole
placed in the southern wall of the foundation was
designated Feature 52 because it contained a
number of shoe fragments. Although there is a
slight curve in the section of the northern
foundation wall closest to the rear wall of the
boardinghouse (Figure 5-16), this has been
interpreted as having no architectural
significance and probably represents demolition
activity. The overall quality of construction is
markedly different than that characteristic of the
boardinghouses themselves. The original plans
for the boardinghouses did not include ells
which may be one reason for the difference in
construction technique. One further note of
interest concerns the vent holes. Although they
provided access to the crawl space beneath the
ell, this included unwanted guests such as rats.
At the same time it afforded boardinghouse
dwellers with a convenient storage space for
secreting items such as liquor bottles.
Feature 51, 17N0W: Party wall
Feature 51 is the remains of a party wall which
formed the southeastern corner of unit #45
(Figures 5-9, 5-17). The wall, which was
constructed of brick and mortar, appears in the
lower right corner of Figure 5-17.
Feature 53, 19N10W, 21N10W: Window well
Feature 53 was a small, semicircular window
well (Figure 5-9, top center of Figure 5-17). It
consisted of a single course of brick and appears
to have been poorly mortared. It may have
served as a source of light for the boardinghouse
cellar, although the window itself was bricked up.
This may have been because of the introduction
of an alternate light source or perhaps as a
preventative measure against pests or pilferers
after the block was converted to a warehouse. It
could also have helped with drainage in the rear
yard.
Feature 54, 21N10W: Post hole (?)
This post hole, 90 cm x 60 cm in size, was
discovered along the rear wall of the
boardinghouse (Figure 5-9). It is located close to
feature 67, which may be a planting hole. The
76 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 5-16. Feature 50, an ell foundation in Operation B. A line of stones at the top of
the photograph may have been part of previous ell foundation. In the foreground can
be seen two of the granite sills used atop the boardinghouse foundation. The darker
areas of soil in this photograph are indicative of the highly organic nature of the
deposits in this backlot. Camera faces east. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.)
Archeology in the Backlots 77
Figure 5-17. View along the rear wall of units #45 and 44, Operation B. Camera faces
south. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.)
78 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
feature matrix was a sandy loam similar to that
found throughout the rear yard area. The
feature contained a number of artifacts
including pipestem and bowl fragments which
appear to date the fill to the late 19th century. It
is possible that the feature could have been a
small planting hole or supported a post.
Feature 55, 23N10W: Party wall
Feature 55 was the remains of a party wall that
would have divided units 45 and 46.(Feature 5-9).
It was constructed of slate stone and mortar. It
was rather small in size, measuring only 40 x 70
cm. It is interesting to note the difference in the
material used for this feature and feature 51,
which also served as a party wall. No reason for
this difference or whether it is significant can be
offered at this time.
matrix consisted of coarse sandy loam, light
yellow-orange in color with traces of grey
mottling. Like the other features of this type it is
unclear whether the stones associated with the
post hole served as post supports or merely
represent accumulated debris. Based on how
common this association is across the backlot it
seems plausible to conclude that the stones
served at least a casual purpose.
Feature 60, 21N0W, 19N0W: Post
Feature 60 (Figure 5-9) was the remains of a
wooden post. The post was partially intact, but
was badly decayed. Its location suggests it was
associated with the rear wall of the
boardinghouse woodshed, but it could also have
been part of the yard fence.
Feature 56, 19N0W: Post support
Feature 56 consisted of a circle of stones that
appears to have helped support a post (Figure 5-
9). It is located along with a number of other
features that may be associated with feature 61,
the boardinghouse privy, or perhaps with the
boardinghouse woodshed. The post hole itself
was filled with a fine, silty sand.
Feature 57, 19N0W: Post support
This stone post support is located in the same
area as feature 56 (Figure 5-9) and appears to
have served a similar purpose.
Feature 58, 19N0W: Post hole
This post hole was found in the same area as
features 56 and 57 (Figure 5-9). It was filled with
a dark black soil that contained slag and ash.
This material is probably residue of the period
when the area served as a coal yard. Like the
features discussed above, with which it was
associated, it would appear to have supported
the superstructure of either the boardinghouse
privy or the woodshed.
Feature 61, 17N0W, 19N0W: Privy vault
Feature 61 was the remains of the
boardinghouse privy (Figure 5-9). It was
constructed of slate stones and when fully
exposed measured approximately 2.3 m x 1
m.(Figure 5-18). In addition to the slate stones
the feature also contained several pieces of
wood, which appear to have been associated with
the privy's use, as well as a cast-iron vent pipe.
The soil matrix at the top of the feature was a
mixture of shades of gray to black. The dark
coloration of the soils reflect the materials used
to fill the privy which was associated with
deposits from the coal yard period of the site.
Three primary layers of fill were identified in the
feature.1 Level 3 contained coal ash and slag
that contributed to the dark color of the soils.
Level 2, which was separated from Level 3 by a
layer of wood, consisted of a mixture of soils and
decomposed wood. Level 1 consisted of glacial
sand below the privy levels; this level, however,
was not excavated except for pollen samples,
which were collected from the level. A more
detailed description of each level is provided
below.
Feature 59, 21N0W: Post support
This feature is located directly north of
features 56-58, but appears to be associated with
them (Figure 5-9). The feature consists of a
circle of stones that helped to support a post that
was probably one of the structural members of
the boardinghouse woodshed. The feature
'During actual excavation the upper most levels of
Feature 61 and all other features and individual strata
were designated Level 1. However pollen samples and
Kelso's description of the results are discussed in reverse
order with the layer deepest from the surface being
designated Level 1. So in the case of Feature 61, the
upper-most layer was designated Level 3 and the lowest
layer Level 1. Therefore for the purposes of the
discussion of Feature 61 the latter system will be
employed.
Archeology in the Backlots 79
Figure 5-18. Feature 61, the Operation B privy, when first uncovered. The blackened
area to the left is a deposit of coal dust; the stones have been pushed into the fill of the
feature. Camera faces north. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.)
80 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 5-19. Feature 61 after excavation, looking straight down into the privy vault.
Portions of a wooden box or internal partition can be seen on the right; at the top is a
cast-iron vent pipe. Camera faces west. (Photograph by Paul S. Giblin.)
Archeology in the Backlots 81
Feature 61, level 3
When excavation of the feature began the
deposits of coal ash and slag were thought to be
an ephemeral layer, however, as more material
was removed it became apparent that this debris
was part of the feature fill. In addition to the coal
ash and slag several boulders were uncovered
that seem to have been part of the privy
foundation wall. It was clear from comparisons
with the stones that comprised the intact
portions of the privy foundation that the
boulders in the feature fill had been associated
with the privy. The fill from the layer was
dominated by coal ash and slag, but also
contained a fairly large sample of cultural
material. The latter included ceramics and
glassware, window glass, faunal remains, several
iron and copper objects, and some clay marbles.
Level 3 was rather thin, measuring ca. 15-20
cm below the surface. The coal ash and slag
began to slacken at a point where the remains of
a wooden frame were discovered. This wood
frame appears to have been associated with the
earliest phase of the privy's use. At this same
point there was a distinctive change in soil color
and texture from a dark black to a dark grey-
brown coarse sand with pebbles. This layer was
designated level 2.
Feature 61, level 2
The interface of this level and that of level 3
was marked by a change in soil color and texture
and the presence of wood. In addition to the
wooden frame discussed above there were also
the remains of several wooden planks. The
planks appear to have formed a cap of some
kind for the feature. The difference between
levels 3 and 2 was quite distinct with a clear drop
in cultural material in level 2 as compared with
the previous level. The level itself was mottled
with more pebbles and gravel located in the
eastern portion of the feature. (Figure 5-19).
Next to the air vent there was a small pocket of
fine sand which extended to ca. 60-70 cm below
the surface. Further pieces of wood were found
at this point. Although pollen samples were
collected from this layer, designated level 1,
excavation ended with the bottom of level 2
(Figure 5-19).
It would appear that both levels 3 and 2 are
fills dating to different cleaning episodes with
the former representing the post-1910 period
when the feature went out of use. Based on
observations made in the field it was unclear
whether level 2, which appears to be the primary
occupation-period layer, contained any fecai
related soils. Parasitological and plant
macrofossil analysis (see Chapter 12) do provide
some evidence which indicates there may have
been some fecal material as part of residue left
when the feature was cleaned out.
Feature 62, 19N4W: Brick paving
This feature appears to be the remains of
brick paving or pathway that would have run
through the center of the backlot. It may have
served those using the woodshed and privy or
just as an all-purpose walkway. As illustrated in
Figure 5-9, it seems to have been disturbed by
the construction of the large lamp post, although
the portion to the north of the post appears to
have retained some integrity. The presence of
such a feature would certainly be in keeping with
the image provided by photographic evidence
that indicates mud would have been a constant
problem in board inghouse backlots.
Feature 63, 17N4W: Post support
This feature consisted of a flat, square rock
that appears to have served as a support for one
of the woodshed's corner posts (Figure 5-9).
Feature 64, 23N10W, 23N12W: Brick paving
Feature 64 appears to the remains of another
brick paving (Figures 5-9, 5-17). It is located
directly outside the rear door of the
boardinghouse and may even have been
connected at some point with Feature 62.
Feature 65, 21N8W: Pit or planting hole
This rectangular pit was first located during
our initial investigations of the boardinghouse
backlots (Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987a). At
that time it was designated feature 8. During the
more recent phase of excavation the feature was
more clearly defined as a small pit associated
with Kirk Boott's occupation of the site (Figure
5-9). The pit is approximately 1 m x 50 cm in
size. The feature matrix consisted of very mixed
yellow-brown sand with traces of grey sand as
well. It contained four different layers, all of
which well relatively mottled. It may have
initially served as a planting hole in Kirk Boott's
garden. Based on the ceramics and other
material recovered from the feature, it clearly
dates to the pre-boardinghouse occupation.
This is further confirmed by pollen analysis (see
Chapter 12).
82 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Feature 66, 19N4W, 21N4W: Post support
This feature appears identical to Feature 63. It
is a flat, square stone that probably functioned
as a corner post support for the boardinghouse
woodshed (Figure 5-9). Its proximity to feature
62 also lends support to the interpretation of this
feature as a walkway to the shed.
Feature 67, 2W8W, 21N10W, 19N8W: Planting
hole
This triangular feature ca. 50 x 50 cm in size
appears to have been a planting hole. The
feature matrix consisted of dark brown sand that
contained cultural material including ceramic
and glass fragments. The feature also contained
several badly corroded iron artifacts. It is
curiously similar to feature 27 in Operation A,
which also appears to have functioned as a
planting hole. This is based on the general
shape of the feature and its orientation to the
rear wall of the boardinghouse.
both also were softened somewhat by plantings
of some sort.
The excavations did give us a plan view of
each yard — at least of its archeological plan.
These, and the sampled and excavated features,
begin to tell the story of workers' lives in the
Boott boardinghouses, but we must turn to the
detailed analysis of material culture and
environmental data in the chapters that follow in
order to gain a more genuine and lively picture
of what the archeological record can tell us.
Summary
Although the backlots explored in Operations
A and B contained essentially the same
complement of features, there were many
differences between the two. Both backlots
showed the effects of razing and subsequent
uses (coal yard, parking lot) to a greater or lesser
degree, with perhaps most damage having been
done to Operation A, although large sections of
Operation B seem to have been gouged out
during coal loading and unloading.
Yard deposits in Operation B, however,
seemed much more intact, although there was
little opportunity to explore these. Operation B
turned up considerably more refuse and
possibly held more planting holes. Naturally, as
a boardinghouse yard used heavily by large
numbers of people over a long period of time, it
would have likely accumulated more refuse than
a tenement yard. The latter was occupied in the
main by single families rather than by unrelated
groups, a factor that may have contributed in
part to relative yard tidiness. The tenement well
had been filled with comparatively clean fill, and
the privy contained coal ash but no genuine
privy deposits. In Operation B, the fill of the well
was replete with household trash, and the privy
did have remnants of fecal matter left after its
last cleaning. Trashy deposits were common
here, and there is a fair amount of evidence of
attempts to provide firm footing in the way of
brick paving and so forth. Both yards may have
been unkempt, with weeds at their margins, but
Chapter 6
'THRASHER'S CHINA" OR "COLORED PORCELAIN": CERAMICS FROM
A BOOTT MILLS BOARDINGHOUSE AND TENEMENT
by David H. Dutton
Introduction
An ever-growing body of research in American
historical archeology has focused on the task of
correlating archeological patterns with
behavioral distinctions among different
socioeconomic strata (Deagan 1982: 163-167;
Geismar 1982; Otto 1984; Paynter 1982). Because
refined ceramic wares are especially sensitive to
sociotechnic dimensions, they are often the most
commonly used artifact type in status studies in
historical archeology. Other artifact groups such
as drinking glass, silverware, silverplate, and
clothing accessories have also been used in
efforts to determine the socioeconomic level of a
household. It is, however, the mere quality and
variety of ceramics found at a historical site that
makes them a reliable indicator of a household's
relative economic level (Miller and Stone 1970:
98).
Ceramic vessels assume a wide variety of
forms, and a careful analysis of these forms will
yield information regarding a vessel's function in
food processing, preparation, consumption, and
other foodways related activities. With any
ceramic vessel serving in a foodways function,
the quality, decoration, and price are related to
the ability of the household to afford them, as
well as to the function of the vessels in displaying
social status to guests on occasions such as tea
or dinner.
The purpose then of this study is to identify
and determine those patterns associated with
ceramic purchase, use, and discard that are a
result of household composition, and
socioeconomic status. The ceramic vessel
assemblages from a Boott Mills boardinghouse
and tenement backlot will provide the basis for
this analysis.
Ceramics in Socioeconomic Studies
The patterns associated with the purchase of
ceramics by the consumer from the wide variety
of wares available in the market economy are
frequently among the major cultural processes
responsible for the formation of the
archeological record (Schiffer 1977). The 19th-
century market economy was a significant
cultural subsystem that affected the acquisition
of household ceramics as well as the frequency
of use and selective discard of the ceramic wares
(Spencer-Wood and Heberling 1987: 56). The
differences in price frequently affected the
quality of consumer goods that a household
could afford, and it was this relationship that can
be associated to socioeconomic status.
Research in anthropological archeology has
sought to link the unequal distribution of goods
among sites to the economic and social
differentiation within the society (Hodder and
Orton 1979: 183-197; Rathje 1971; Sabloff and
Rathje 1975). Further, economic anthropologists
and archeologists agree that social status
differences that are a result of economic roles
are major factors in unequal access to goods
(Clark 1969: 217; Douglas and Isherwood 1979:
25).
The underlying assumption of ceramic
economic scaling studies is that members of a
household will only purchase ceramics that
reflect their relative socioeconomic level. As
with all assumptions, caution must be exercised,
as the initial findings in the data may not always
be valid. For instance, a particular household
may not choose to display its wealth by
purchasing and using more expensive ceramics.
Likewise, the socioeconomic level of a household
is not static and may be subject to frequent
changes over a relatively short period of time.
Here the risk lies in assigning a relative value to
a collection that actually reflects the previous
rather than current socioeconomic level of the
household being studied (Garrow 1987: 218).
It must, however, always be remembered that
the price or value of the ceramic item is only one
factor that is involved in the complex web of
consumer choices. The actual cost of the
ceramics should be considered a minimum
criterion, but knowing whether or not a site's
occupants had the wherewithal to purchase
transfer printed wares and teawares does not tell
us enough about peoples' choices, restrictions,
and, ultimately, how they lived (Leone and
Crosby 1987: 402).
83
84 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
19th-century Tableware
The most commonly used items in a
household would have been ceramic vessels
employed in the preparation, service, and
consumption of food. By the 19th century,
women had a wide variety of choices available
for dinner sets and other dining room
furnishings (see Mrozowski 1988 for a discussion
of the assumed link between women and
ceramic purchase in 19th-century America). In
fact, just choosing the type of ware and number
of pieces needed to set a table could often prove
to be quite a task. For women who were
purchasing ceramics with limited financial
means, the experience could be particularly
trying. Indeed, "shopping, especially to those for
whom a purchase represented months of saving,
could be a treacherous adventure" (Williams
1985: 59).
Different sets of tableware were made
available by manufacturers in order to fill the
needs of various dining situations. A typical
family's tableware for the last half of the 19th
century would have included settings for dinner,
tea, breakfast, and dessert (Williams 1985: 80).
By the mid-19th century, the array of
components comprising a dinner set was
relatively standardized regardless of the ware.
The number of pieces purchased, however,
would have differed from family to family as
economic means, family size, and personal
preferences would have more than likely
governed such decisions.
A typical dinner setting is probably
represented in a purchase made by Captain
Richard H. Tucker of Wiscasset, Maine, in
November of 1858. His dinnerware consisted of
11/2 dozen dinner plates, 11/2 dozen breakfast
plates, 11/2 dozen tea plates, 1 dozen soup
plates, 2 sauce tureens, 2 sauce boats, 1 soup
tureen, 4 oval covered vegetable dishes (2 sizes),
7 oval meat dishes (assorted sizes), 1 round
pudding dish, 2 oval deep dishes, 1 butter plate,
1 dozen custards, and 1 gravy dish (Williams
1985: 82). The variety and sizes of dinnerware
available to consumer was indeed great and is
further illustrated by a 1920 catalog entry for the
Homer Laughlin China Company of East
Liverpool, Ohio, listing common and trade shape
names. Among the entries are listed five types
of plates, ranging in size from four inches to
eight inches, two types of soup plates, four forms
of vegetable dishes, pitchers, and gravy boats
(Gates and Ormerod 1982: 9).
By the 1850s, tableware services were larger
and more functionally specific than ever before.
Technological innovations in the ceramic
industry, such as mechanically decorating
earthenwares by means of transfer printing,
dramatically lowered the price of tableware
while at the same time increasing the range both
of form and decoration. Because of the ceramic
industry's expanded production capabilities and
distribution networks, the last half of the 19th
century was characterized by a wide selection of
dinner, tea, glass, and flatware services that were
available to all socioeconomic levels.
The Archeology of 19th-century Ceramics
With the advent of the 19th century came a
series of developments in the ceramic industry
that forced potters and ceramic merchants to
attend less to ware-type in describing their
products. The standardization of the
manufacturing process reduced the distinctions
that could be made among glazes and pastes.
The differences among the wares manufactured
were practically unobservable compared to
earlier periods. Furthermore, unlike their earlier
counterparts, who could refer to ceramics by
ware types and their various subdivisions without
confusion, 19th-century potters and wholesalers
marketed their ceramics on the basis of
decoration — chiefly because greater effort and
expense was now invested in decorating than in
producing pots — moreso than by other
characteristics (Miller 1980).
Many of the systems used to categorize and
analyze 19th-century ceramics are derived from,
if not directly related to, ware-based systems of
classification. Miller (1980) notes that because
researchers in the 1960s were concerned
predominantly with 17th- and 18th-century sites,
the analysis of ceramics was dependent on a
division based on ware types, which separated
ceramics into earthenwares, stonewares, and
porcelain. These groups were further
subdivided according to contemporary
terminology used by manufacturers, merchants,
and consumers. For example, earthenware
would have encompassed creamware,
pearlware, and Rockingham ware, to mention
just a few. It was, therefore, natural for
archeologists working on 19th-century sites to
extend the use of ware-based classificatory
schemes to the analysis of ceramic materials
they recovered (Miller 1980: 2; Majewski and
O'Brien 1987: 105).
Aside from changes in production, the most
obvious and oftentimes least dealt with problem
in ware-based classification systems is the
disagreement by archeologists over the
definitions of ware such as pearlware, whiteware,
and ironstone (Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 105).
Miller further illustrates this point when he
Ceramic Analysis 85
states, "if an assemblage of ceramics from the
first half of the 19th century is placed before six
archaeologists and they are asked for counts of
cream ware, pearl ware, whiteware, and stone
china wares, the results will probably be six
different enumerations" (Miller 1980: 2). The
reference here is to early 19th<entury ceramics;
one could only imagine the outcome of such an
exercise with late 19th- and early 20th-century
wares.
In response to a need for a more effective
classification scheme for 19th-century ceramics,
Miller (1980) developed a decoration-based
system of analysis. Because of his interests in
economic and status-related issues, Miller
developed a four-level classification system that
was arranged in increasing order by consumer
cost. Characteristics were determined by
examining 19th-century price fixing lists,
account books, bills of lading, and newspapers,
in order to understand how ceramics were
marketed. By using documented prices of
ceramic vessels, "cream-colored-index values"
were created enabling the researcher to
calculate the relative cost of an item above that
of cream-colored vessels. This, in turn, allows
the assemblage to be scaled in terms of
expenditure on ceramics.
Decoration-based systems, however, are not
without their own problems. Rarely does an
archeologist recover a complete vessel from an
excavated site. Fragments that researchers deal
with represent only a small portion of the
original vessel. Frequently only the undecorated
sections of a vessel are recovered, lowering the
mean ceramic assemblage value when in reality
it ought to be somewhat higher. Likewise,
decoration-based schemes cannot account for
undecorated vessels such as semivitreous white-
bodied wares (ironstone) and vessels that have
at most an unpainted band of relief decoration
around the rim. By 1850, ironstone wares were
considered equal in price to transfer printed
vessels. Creation of another level in Miller's
decoration hierarchy would therefore be
necessary for assemblages post-ca. 1850. A
second weakness is a result of the fact that 19th-
and early 20th-century ceramics were frequently
marketed by decoration in addition to ware or
pattern (Henry and Garrow 1982a: 323).
Miller's (1980) argument that ware-based
systems of classification are useful only in
examining social and economic aspects of pre-
1800 ceramic assemblages is widely accepted,
and his method for categorizing 19th-century
vessels according to decoration has met with
increased usage. Problems arise, however, when
analyzing assemblages from the second half of
the 19th century. The appearance and
popularity of undecorated white wares after 1850
makes a dependence solely on Miller's system
unreliable.
Considerable debate has centered around the
definition of the category whiteware. Several
researchers have tried to develop an objective
means for distinguishing among the white
earthenwares (Lofstrom et al. 1982; Henry and
Garrow 1982a; Worthy 1982) while others such as
Gates an Ormerod (1982: 7) and South (1977)
have elected to use the term "whiteware" to
refer to any type of pottery or porcelain that is
white or nearly white in color. Because of
technological improvements in the ceramic
industry, white-bodied ceramics came to coexist
throughout the 19th and into the 20th century
with nonvitreous- and semivitreous-bodied
earthenwares. Ceramic body types
manufactured during this time period merely
reflect points along a continuum of ceramic
body development. To make a fine-grained
distinction would simply compound the
problems archeologists have in identifying and
analyzing 19th-century ceramics. Therefore, for
the purposes of ware-type divisions, ironstone,
nonvitreous, and semivitreous wares were all
grouped in a category labelled white
earthenware.
For this study it was deemed best to use a
combination of both the ware- and decoration-
based systems of classification. For heuristic
purposes, ceramics recovered from the Boott
Mills excavations were first grouped according
to ware type (e.g., pearlware, creamware,
whiteware, stoneware, yellow ware, red ware,
porcelain, etc.) and then by decoration which
was based on an analyses of the vessel surface.
Any form of human alteration, such as molding,
inscribing, handpainting, glazing, or transfer
printing, etc., were classified as forms of ceramic
vessel decoration. Vessels exhibiting similar
characteristics were grouped accordingly. These
categories were analyzed in an attempt to arrive
at conclusions concerning household
composition, socioeconomic behavior, and
purchasing patterns for the boardinghouse and
tenement.
The Homelot as a Unit of Analysis
The basic unit of archeological excavation is
often the houselot associated with a domestic
structure and its related outbuildings. The
majority of artifacts recovered archeologically
from primary deposits in a houselot fenced in or
separated from adjacent structures and activity
areas can reasonably be assumed to have been
86 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
deposited by the residents of the house that
controlled the yard (Deagan 1982: 161).
Therefore, it stands to reason that some of the
ceramics used by the residents may have been
lost or discarded in the yard while some
materials may have been deposited elsewhere
by the household. The ceramics recovered
archeologically, however, will at best represent
only a partial sample of the ceramics used in the
household. In addition to the archeological
biases attributable to the recovery methods
employed, some ceramics may remain in the
cultural system of a household for a longer
period of time than others, further skewing the
sample. Vessels may be transplanted to other
locations in the cultural system through such
mechanisms as recycling, inheritance, gift-
giving, barter, and resale (Spencer-Wood and
Heberling 1987: 57).
The archeological materials that are
recovered and associated with a particular
structure can usually be related to the collective
behavior of all the residents of the house in one
time period. The behavior of any subdivisions of
either economic or social units within a
household may prove difficult if not impossible
to determine, however. These smaller economic
or social units that comprise the household
include servants, boarders, or multiple families.
The accepted definition of a household, in
archeological terms, is a "co-resident domestic
group" that is made up of those individuals who
occupy and share the same physical space for
the activities of eating, sleeping, taking rest and
leisure, growing up, childbearing, and
procreating (Beaudry 1984a: 1).
Many forms of household composition can be
identified by the types of relationships, both
economic and social, that are found to exist
among the members of the household group
(LeeDecker et al. 1987: 236). In 19th-century
urban America the most commonly found
household types were the nuclear family
household, the extended family household, the
augmented family household, the
boardinghouse, and the solitary individual
household (LeeDecker et al. 1987: 236).
The practice of boarding individuals was
widespread in the late 19th century in both rural
and urban settings. Research conducted by
Modell and Hareven (1977) has demonstrated
that for American families, approximately one in
every five urban households took in boarders
during the period 1860 to 1920. Boarding soon
became associated with lower-class immigrants,
and, by the turn of the century, the progressive
moralists had labeled it as "the lodger evil," as
middle class values became more stringent
(Modell and Hareven 1977: 165-166). In essence,
the boardinghouse system brought about the
commercialization of the household (cf. Landon,
Chapter 4, this volume).
Corporate Housing in Lowell
Two types of housing were provided for the
operatives by the corporation: boardinghouses
and tenements. Boardinghouses provided room
and board for the single male and female
operatives at the mill. Run by keepers hired by
the mill agents, boardinghouses provided a
means for the corporations to extend company
supervision and discipline of workers outside the
mill into the home (Dublin 1979: 76). Tenement
housing was offered to skilled workers and their
families, as well as to households with two or
more individuals employed in the mills. In
addition to providing shelter, tenement housing
served to keep skilled workers housed close to
the mills in relatively inexpensive housing, in
turn reducing the chances of employees seeking
more convenient employment (Anonymous
1888: 315).
Boardinghouses were operated mostly by
widows or older women with young children. It
was their duty to enforce strict company policies
on behavior in the boardinghouses such as the
10 p.m. curfew, required church attendance on
Sunday, and the prohibition of smoking and
gambling (Hareven 1982: 55). In Lowell, as well
as other industrial towns, the boardinghouse
keeper was often regarded as a surrogate parent
and the operatives as minor children (Dublin
1979: 79). In this way the keepers, and in turn the
corporations, sought to assure young women
workers and their parents that the
boardinghouses mirrored and observed the
values that parents guarded in rural life.
In addition to maintaining order and harmony
within the boardinghouse, keepers were
required to obtain all of the necessary articles for
furnishing and operating the establishment.
Purchases for the boardinghouse would have
been made by the keeper, or her domestics, and
would have included furniture, food, tableware,
and other numerous household articles. The
economic limitations placed upon a keeper
needing to make these purchases for outfitting a
boardinghouse might have been met by
purchasing items in bulk or by renting
furnishings (Bond 1987: 40). There were several
purchasing options available to the new
boardinghouse keeper, or one needing to
replace damaged, broken, or missing items. She
could purchase articles that were damaged in
transport, out of fashion, or odd pieces of an
Ceramic Analysis 87
incomplete set, such as that advertised in the
Lowell Sunday Arena on February 12, 1893.
French & Puffer, an establishment operating in
Lowell as early as 1878, was listed in the Lowell
business directory as dealers of crockery, china,
and glassware (Lowell Directory 1878, 1888). The
firm was located at 127-131 Central Street. Its
advertisement for the sale of odd pieces stresses
a great opportunity for restaurants and
boardinghouse keepers to acquire or replenish a
set of ceramic ware (Figure 6-1). In the same
paper, A. G. Pollard & Co., located at Merrimack,
Palmer, and Middle Streets, advertised the sale
of damaged quilts (Figure 6-2). The
merchandise was displayed in the basement,
and housekeepers, hotel keepers, and
boardinghouse keepers were urged to take
advantage of the specials. Clearly businesses in
Lowell were aware of the economic constraints
under which boardinghouse keepers were
operating. The newspaper ads suggest that, in
addition to purchasing or renting items in bulk,
boardinghouse keepers bought and replenished
their stock with factory seconds or leftover
merchandise. Local merchants encouraged this
practice through direct appeal to boardinghouse
keepers in their newspaper ads.
Tenement dwellers presumably led lives like
other "normal" nuclear families and thus
seldom attracted the attention of 19th-century
writers so keen to document boardinghouse life.
Most working-class families, however, lived in
poverty or near poverty and the economic
survival of the family frequently depended on
the contributions of individual members and the
marshalling of collective family resources
(Hareven 1982: 189). It was quite common for
children to work and to contribute most of their
earnings to the family. In fact, a survey of
several New England textile towns revealed that
this was the predominant pattern throughout the
industry (Hareven 1982: 189). The key to survival
for working-class families, such as those who
lived in the Boott Mills tenements, was
interdependence and a collective effort. Thus,
the economic strategy of the family often took
precedence over individual choices and
priorities. A brief examination of the census
data from tenement, unit #48 (Bond 1987:
Appendix B) illustrates that unlike most
working-class mill families, the residents from
unit #48 had few children who were eligible for
the work force. It is possible that the wives of the
respective families worked but these data are
unavailable. On the whole, the residents of the
tenement had one primary income, that of the
husband, thus, limiting the purchasing power of
the household.
ODD PIECES.
We have u •mall quantity of odd
Sieces of Crockery, nmt beloojring to
Inner m-ts, and odds and ends of other
kinds They are all desirable, and will
help out ii broken eat in fine shape.
Here'b »
Great Chance 1# Restaurants
or Boarding-House Keepers.
Tea Plates, 5c.
Breakfast Plates, 6c.
Dinner Plates, 7c.
Thia is cheaper than the white ware
can be bought for, and besides these odd
pieces are all excellent quality, nicely
decorated and fine shape*. They cannot
be duplicated in this city or elsewhere
for these prices. In the lot are
•*
Cops, Saucers, Dishes
Of. various kinds, and other thing* of
value. • Tbey are all put into the low
price list for next week.
Anyone who keeps house, and espe-
cially owners of restaurants, boarding-
houses, etc., should not let thia oppor-
tunity slip. .
French & Puller,
127 to W C'Ptra! Strut.
Figure 6-1. French & Puffer advertisement from
Lowell Sunday Arena February 12, 1893.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
A.G.POLLARD&CO.
BASEMENT DEPARTMENT.
ANOTHER LARGE LOT
DAMAGED QUILTS.
TO BE OFFERED ON
Tuesday, February 14th, 1893.
Nearly lfiOO White Toilet wullta, -very-one slightly damagwd Id mmo-
(adoring by tonae Irregularity in the machinery They eobntcw 20 different
frmdee and will bw aold »t pnm r»ug" .* froro
49 Cents to $2.29 Each.
They are all Full Strength and Full Hue, »nd the d image ii of eurh
nature an will not in anyway affect their durability and id many lortaoL-ea
ii if hardly noiicrsble
WV «ha ■' [--n "lem on T-ii*« lay M'<t iiinw, nnl, In mr ffewMoeni V>- ^H
.ut
k.
Street n.tnmcee H ■■■j»- Keeper*. Hutel 1-oepvn. Li'Mtrdiiigbouae Kwpen kl
e.eryUxly »t...uiJ fiAiuioe them early
A. G. POLLARD & CO.
Figure 6-2. A. G. Pollard & Company advertisement from Lowell Sunday Arena February 12, 1893.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
The tenement residents were operating under
similar economic conditions as the
boardinghouse keepers. They had, however,
more freedom to furnish their homes as they
pleased and to make purchases characteristic of
a nuclear family arrangement according to their
personal preferences and financial means. No
doubt they patronized local merchants, but
merchants did not target them as a special
consumer group. Because these households
were usually composed of single families who
were not under the supervision of a keeper, they
enjoyed more autonomy over their lives than
single workers living in the boardinghouse.
The corporate housing at the Boott Mills
represented two types of household composition
operating under similar financial constraints.
The ceramics purchased by the residents are
expected to reflect the differences in household
arrangement and possibly minor socioeconomic
levels within the working classes. Ceramics
purchased by the boardinghouse keepers
should reflect the service and consumption of
food on a large scale similar to other
establishments providing the same services, e.g.,
restaurants and hotels. The presence of
undecorated wares, unmatched vessels, and
fewer specialized tablewares, especially those
associated with status display, are expected to
characterize the boardinghouse ceramic
assemblage. Tenement vessels, on the other
hand, should illustrate the purchases indicative
of a nuclear family arrangement. Their ceramic
assemblage is expected to place a greater
emphasis on porcelain wares, matched table
settings, and status related wares, such as
matched tea- and coffeeware, in an effort to
display to the public the family's upward
mobility and to distinguish them from their
neighbors in the boardinghouse.
Research Framework
Archeologically excavated materials from
backlots of Boott Mill units #45 (boardinghouse)
and #48 (tenement) provide a rare opportunity
to view 19th-century workers' material culture
and provide a basis for comparison between life
in the boardinghouses and corporate tenements.
The recovery and analyses of household
materials enables differentiations to be made
between the distinctive behaviors that identify
members of different classes. The purpose of
this study is to illuminate the general
characteristics of household material culture —
more specifically, ceramics — that can be reliably
related to family organization and
socioeconomic standing.
Ceramic Analysis 89
Shepard's work on status variation in
antebellum Alexandria, Virginia (1987), has
defined three variables affecting ceramic
assemblage composition that can be identified
and measured in the archeological record:
quantity; quality; and variety. The degree of
expression for these categories will reflect the
accessibility and preference of the item by the
consumer.
The variable quantity, as used in this study,
refers to the number of items making up a
material assemblage. As household income is
the strongest determinant for the size of a
material assemblage (Schiffer et al. 1981),
individuals with a greater income ought to have
more household items, as a result of their
purchasing power, than families in lower income
brackets. Likewise, the size and stability of a
household will affect the number of household
goods acquired by a family.
Quality is determined by the value of an item
and is usually expressed monetarily in terms of
price. Scarcity of the materials needed to
manufacture the object, along with its
desirability, frequently function as major
variables in determining value.
Variety is calculated by looking at the number
of items within an assemblage that have
different or specialized functions. Deetz has
determined that households with low incomes
would not be able to afford more expensive
ceramic wares and that different food ways
practices between classes would result in
discernable differences in the ranges of forms
for ceramic vessels used (Deetz 1977: 51). Thus,
it can be expected that families with limited
financial resources would purchase basic
ceramic forms needed for food preparation,
service, and consumption and fewer luxury
items, while more affluent families would have
purchased the basics in addition to an array of
non-necessities.
Appearance of the variables quantity, quality,
and variety in a ceramic assemblage is affected
by social and economic factors. It has been
noted that households with the same income,
but from different social classes, will display
quite different spending strategies (Coleman
1961: 176). Members of a social class are
products of their respective socialization process
through which they learn what objects are
desirable, proper and acceptable, and
undesirable.
The ceramic assemblages from the Boott
Mills excavations represent two forms of
households with approximately the same class
affiliation but occupying different
socioeconomic ranks within the working class
(e.g., unskilled vs. skilled operatives). A
comparison of these two assemblages addresses
the issue of whether household composition
(corporate boardinghouse vs. nuclear family)
and relative socioeconomic level — admittedly a
fairly minor distinction in this instance — within a
class affects ceramic purchase, use, and discard.
A set of expectations, framed as hypotheses,
have been generated to test for the differences
between the social and economic behaviors of
the residents of boardinghouse #45 and
tenement #48 of the Boott Mills.
Hypothesis Testing for Quantity
1. The tenement assemblage will have a greater
number of vessels per person as compared to the
boardinghouse assemblage.
Hypotheses Testing for Quality
1. The tenement assemblage will have a greater
percentage of porcelain and transfer-printed wares
than the boardinghouse assemblage, which will
show the opposite pattern.
2. The tenement assemblage will have a higher
percentage of matched vessels within the total
transfer printed ware, total porcelain, and
undecorated whiteware as compared to the
boardinghouse assemblage, which will show the
opposite pattern.
3. The tenement housing assemblage will have a
higher mean ceramic assemblage value as
compared to the boardinghouse assemblage.
Hypotheses Testing for Variety
1. The boardinghouse assemblage will have a greater
percentage of tableware, storage ware, and tea- and
coffeewares as compared to the tenement
assemblage which will show the opposite pattern.
2. The boardinghouse assemblage will have a greater
percentage of serving flatware and serving bowls
within the total tableware as compared to the
tenement assemblage which will show the opposite
pattern.
3. The tenement assemblage will have a greater
percentage of transfer-printed flatware and a
smaller percentage of banded bowls and
undecorated flatware than the boardinghouse
assemblage which will show the opposite pattern.
4. The tenement assemblage will have a larger ratio
of numbers of different shapes to total number of
vessels within the total ceramic assemblage as
compared to the boardinghouse assemblage which
will show the opposite pattern.
90 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Methods
Vessel Count
The identification of vessels within the
ceramic assemblage forms the basis of analysis
for research questions centered on variety and
quantity. In addition to providing the
archeologist with an indication of the number of
vessels used on a site, questions regarding food
consumption activities and the function of
vessels used in this process may also be
addressed.
Vessel counts were generated from the Boott
Mills data by quantifying sherds or mending
sherds that exhibited a ware, type, variety,
and/or form that was different from other
mended or single sherds. The remaining
ceramic fragments that could not be identified
as part of a vessel, either because they did not
mend with other sherds, or because they were
likely part of another already identified vessel,
were counted and grouped according to ware,
type, and variety and placed in a secondary
category.
Two ceramic vessel counts were calculated:
Total Vessel Count (TVC) and Identified Vessel
Count (IVC). The Total Vessel Count was
compiled for use in determining the quantity of
ceramic vessels within the assemblages, as well
as arriving at percentages of porcelain, transfer
printed ware, whiteware, undecorated ware, and
minimally decorated wares.
Identifiable Vessel Counts included those
vessel forms that could be identified according
to function. The IVC was used to obtain
percentages of tableware, storage ware, and
coffee- and teaware, in addition to calculating
the percentages of serving flatware, serving
bowls, transfer printed flatware, banded bowls,
and edged ware. The variety of vessel forms
within each assemblage was also determined
using the IVC, as well as the calculation of mean
ceramic assemblage values.
Dating
Dates were assigned to ceramic vessels
recovered from the boardinghouse and
tenement backlots on the basis of decorative
styles and elements and manufacturer's marks.
Because the methods and techniques of
decorating earthenwares and porcelain changed
through time, some more so than others,
ceramic vessels can frequently be assigned to
fairly short time spans. Those vessels datable
based on decorative styles and elements, were
combined with identifiable manufacturer's
marks (discussed below) and used in
conjunction with dated glass vessels to arrive at
terminus post quern dates for appropriate
features.
Results
Archeological excavation of the Boott Mills
boardinghouse and tenement backlots yielded a
total of 7,183 ceramic fragments. The nature of
the assemblage was extremely fragmentary,
indicating that considerable post-depositional
activity in the form of grading, use of the
backlots for coal storage, and pavement of the
area for a 20th-century parking lot resulted in
considerable damage to archeological materials.
Of the vessels recovered, only one was 90% intact
and that was a redware flowerpot found in a
planting hole behind the tenement (Figure 6-3).
The total number of vessels retrieved
archeologically was 305. This relatively low
number is unusual for assemblages associated
with households containing several individuals
over a period of time, such as the tenement and
boardinghouse. The introduction of municipal
refuse collection in 1871 (Bell 1987a: 60)
undoubtedly had a direct impact on the quantity
and quality of materials that were deposited in
the backlots. Similarly, the vessel count may
reflect ceramic assemblages that were limited in
size because of economic constraints on
consumers. At best, the vessel counts offer only
a limited view of the number and types of
ceramics used by the boardinghouse and
tenement residents.
A total of 86 vessels was recovered from the
Boott Mills tenement (#48). A breakdown by
ware type, shown in Table 6-1, illustrates that the
most frequently acquired wares were whitewares,
redwares, and porcelain. The boardinghouse
(#45) assemblage consists of 191 vessels and
reflects a similar ware type preference, with
whiteware, redware, and porcelain being the
predominant categories.
Table 6-1. Summary of ceramics by
ware type.
Tenement
Boardinghouse
Ware Type
# %
# %
Bennington
0 0.00
1 0.52
Cream ware
1 1.16
5 2.61
Earthenware
0 0.00
1 0.52
Pearlware
2 2.32
1 0.52
Porcelain
11 12.79
8 4.18
Redware
12 13.95
12 6.28
Stoneware
3 3.48
11 5.75
Whiteware
56 65.11
149 78.01
Yellow ware
1 1.16
3 1.57
Total
86 100.00
191 100.00
Ceramic Analysis 91
■ ■
*■
inch
^^^^BBBHI^^HH^^B
Figure 6-3. Redware flower pot recovered from tenement backlot. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
The tenement assemblage contains over twice
as many porcelain vessels (12.7%) as the
boardinghouse collection (4.1%) suggesting a
preference for finer manufactured vessels,
porcelain being used predominantly for the
production of fine table- and teawares. The
heavy reliance on whitewares by both the
tenement (65.1%) and boardinghouse (78.0%)
indicates that their purchasing patterns were not
in line with, and indeed somewhat lower, than
the more prosperous classes of the late 19th
century. By the last decades of the 1800s, the
term "Thrashers China" was frequently used by
members of the more affluent industrial middle
class to refer derogatively to the inexpensive and
utilitarian whitewares. Such wares were still
commonly used by the rural folk, however, long
after the majority of Americans had purchased
colored porcelain to set their tables (Wetherbee
1985: 33).
An examination of the types of vessel forms
for the boardinghouse and tenement
assemblages is presented in Table 6-2. The data
reveal that the range of vessel forms for both
households are very similar. The most
discernible differences are in the percentages of
tea- and coffeeware, with cups representing
15.1% and saucers 20.9% of the tenement
assemblage and 11.5% and 18.9%, respectively,
of the boardinghouse vessels. Certain
specialized forms present in the boardinghouses
are absent from the tenement, such as ale
bottles, gravy boats, jugs, teapots, and basins.
An evaluation of the decorative forms is
illustrated in Table 6-3. Immediately evident is
the similarity of the two assemblages. For both
the tenement and boardinghouse, the most
92 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
prominent forms of vessel decoration were plain
or undecorated, transfer printed, and molded.
Table 6-2. Summary of
ceramics by
vessel type.
Tenement
Boardir
ighouse
Vessel Form
#
%
#
%
Ale bottle
1
0.52
0
0.00
Bowl
18
20.93
50
26.17
Chamber pot
1
1.16
0
0.00
Gock
1
1.16
2
1.04
Cup
13
15.11
22
11.51
Flower pot
3
3.48
5
2.61
Gravy boat
0
0.00
1
0.52
Jar
4
4.65
4
2.09
H
0
0.00
1
0.52
Plate
10
11.62
30
15.70
Platter
3
3.48
10
5.23
Pot
4
4.65
1
0.52
Saucer
18
20.93
36
18.84
Tea pot
0
0.00
1
0.52
Wash basin
0
0.00
1
0.52
Unidentified
11
1279
26
13.61
Total
86
100.00
191
100.00
Table 6-3. Summary of
ceramics by
decoration.
Tenement
Boardir
ighouse
Decoration
#
%
#
%
Decal
1
1.16
4
2.09
Dipped
0
0.00
3
1.57
Edged
6
6.97
11
5.75
Gilded
9
10.46
8
4.18
Handpainted
9
10.46
8
4.18
Lead glazed
6
6.97
10
5.23
Molded
9
10.46
29
15.18
Overglazed
1
1.16
0
0.00
Salt glazed
1
1.16
5
2.61
Sponge
3
3.48
6
3.14
Transfer print
12
13.95
32
16.75
Undecorated
28
32.55
74
38.74
Wash
1
1.16
1
0.52
Total
86
100.00
191
100.00
Blue-edged ware comprised 40.0% of the
identifiable plates recovered from the tenement
and 36.6% of the boardinghouse plate
assemblage. A detailed study of the impressed
rim patterns demonstrates that none of the
molded patterns matched, indicating that the
plates must have been purchased one or two at a
time rather than in sets (Figure 6-4). England
produced green- and blue-edged plates from
the late 18th century into the 19th century, with
the blue-edged plates being marketed well into
the 1850s and perhaps even later (Miller 1974:
204). Merchants frequently purchased ceramics
from wholesalers and bought whatever green or
blue-edged plates were available. As a result,
seldom did the edgeware of one season match
that of the next (Miller 1974: 204). Therefore,
anyone who purchased their ceramics by the
piece rather than by the set could only hope to
match the plates on the basis of color and basic
design elements.
Transfer printed plates were the largest
category of decorative flatware for the tenement
(30.0%) while only 10.0% of the boardinghouse
plates were printed (Figure 6-5). The tenement
assemblage contains one fragment of a blue
willow pattern plate in addition to one brown
floral and one green geometric pattern printed
plate. The boardinghouse printed plates, on the
other hand, display two brown floral patterns and
one green floral print.
Unlike the edgeware, there appears to be no
attempt made by the tenement or
boardinghouse residents to obtain matching
patterns of printed ware. No two plates appear
similar in any manner other than color. Because
of the speed with which transfer printed patterns
rose and fell in popularity, it was probably quite
difficult to obtain similar patterns for breakage
replacement. It appears that the occupants of
both the boardinghouse and tenement were
purchasing transfer printed plates, not as a
substitute for broken plates within a set, but as
supplements to an already existing collection of
tableware.
Undecorated plates represent the second
largest category of flatware, next to edgeware, for
the boardinghouse (36.6%) and the third most
popular group, 10.0%, for the tenement. Three
times the number of plates for the
boardinghouse were undecorated as compared
to the tenement assemblage suggesting that
there was indeed a possible concern for
similarity among dinnerware patterns. The plain
whiteware would have been easier to acquire,
thus making replacement with like wares more
feasible (Figure 6-6). Mrs. Blanche Graham, a
resident of a Boott Mills boardinghouse as a
child, remembers that the china she helped
carry to the table was undecorated whiteware,
"solid stuff" (Bond 1987: 42). Likewise, a
photograph of a boardinghouse dining room, ca.
1908, displays place settings that appear to be
undecorated whitewares, as no printed vessels
are evident (Figure 6-7).
Tea- and coffeeware (cups and saucers)
reinforce many of the conclusions drawn from
the plate sample. Comprising 32.5% of the
tenement total ceramic assemblage and 29.3% of
the boardinghouse vessels, the large
percentages of tea- and coffeeware illustrates
the importance of coffee and tea consumption in
the tenement and boardinghouse.
Ceramic Analysis 93
Figure 6-4. Impressed blue shell edged pates from the boardinghouse and tenement backlots
(1830-1850). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-5. Brown floral transfer printed plates from the boardinghouse and tenement backlots (1880-
1910). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
94 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 6-6. Undecorated whiteware plate (left) from the tenement and platter (right) from the
boardinghouse. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Ceramic Analysis 95
X
15
c
.9
o
O
U
o
i— i
as
6
o
o
Ih
M)
C
c
3
o
X
bo
c
o
V4-.
o
<u
H
o
o
ix, c
96 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 6-8. Undecorated whiteware tea/coffee cups from the boardinghouse and tenement backlots.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
A brief survey of an extant boardinghouse
menu reveals that coffee or tea was served at all
three meals (Hareven 1982: 24), indicating that
these were the beverages of choice. A standard
tea set frequently included a teapot, sugar and
creamer, waste bowl, six cups with saucers, and
dessert plates (Wetherbee 1985: 29). Evidence
for the presence of specialized teawares in the
two assemblages is very limited. In fact, the only
specialized tea- or coffeeware vessel present was
a Bennington ware tea pot. It seems that tea- or
coffeewares at the tenement and boardinghouse
served more in a functional capacity than as
status display items.
Half (50.0%) of the tea or coffee cups in the
boardinghouse assemblage were undecorated.
Similarly, undecorated cups, 30.7%, formed the
largest group for the tenement ceramics (Figure
6-8). Transfer printed cups for the two
assemblages are all unique, no two patterns
being alike. The tenement has slightly more
printed cups, 15.3%, as compared to the
boardinghouse with 9.0%. Romantic prints in
brown and an oriental print in blue dominate the
color and theme elements.
Of the saucers represented from the two
assemblages, no two vessels appear similar in
pattern except for the undecorated wares, which
account for 28.5% of the boardinghouse saucers.
Printed saucers equal undecorated saucers for
the boardinghouse ceramics. Blue, brown, red,
and green printed patterns dominate, with the
common designs being floral and geometric.
None of the patterns match, but of the 10
Ceramic Analysis 97
Figure 6-9. Handpainted saucers from corporate housing backlots (1840-1860). (Photograph by Richard
S. Kanaski.)
printed saucers, nine exhibit floral patterns,
indicating that perhaps some attempt was made,
if not to obtain the exact pattern and color, to at
least stay within the same design elements.
On the other hand, only 11.1% of the
identifiable saucers recovered from the
tenement backlot displayed transfer print
patterns. The prints were blue floral patterns
that are unrelated.
A rather large percentage of saucers from the
tenement, 22.2%, was handpainted (Figure 6-9).
The dominant decorative elements were floral
motifs painted in the sprig style. This design,
consisting of small floral elements scattered over
a plain background, was popular from the 1840s
until the 1860s (Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 157).
The typical motif included a thin hairline black
stem with small green leaves and stylized red
and blue flowers with berries (Lofstrom et al.
1982: 9).
Although none of the sprig decorated saucers
match in style or color, it appears that efforts
were made by tenement residents to acquire
tea- or coffeeware in a similar pattern. Because
of the nature of sprig painted designs — large
portions of the vessel being left undecorated — it
is quite possible that some of the undecorated
cups from the tenement assemblage are
represented only by unpainted portions of the
vessel. It is likely that there was some evidence
of matched sets, but unfortunately this
information has not been recovered.
Of the bowls recovered, 20.9% were from the
tenement backlot and 26.1% from the
boardinghouse backlot. The most numerous
decorative styles were transfer printed and
undecorated wares. In fact, bowls used as
tableware in the tenement assemblage were
either printed or undecorated. The printed
patterns were similar only in exhibiting floral
98 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
motifs, but, once again, none of the patterns
matched, further indicating a replacement
purchase pattern. The majority of bowls from
the boardinghouse collection tended to be either
undecorated (38.0%), printed (20.0%), or molded
(20.0%). As with the tenement vessels, a floral
theme is common in all of the printed patterns
with colors ranging from blue and brown to
green. However, no two bowls match. Likewise,
the molded patterns all represent individual
design elements with floral, dotted, and ribbed
motifs dominating. As with the tenement
assemblage, the boardinghouse bowl data
supports a practice of purchasing bowls as
replacements rather than in complete sets.
Service-related vessels, such as large bowls
and platters, accounted for 26.7% of the
tenement's total vessels and 29.3% of the
boardinghouse total ceramics. Both
assemblages showed a preponderance of
undecorated service bowls (Figure 6-10). Only
one attempt at matching service bowls was
identified, and this was with two sponge
decorated vessels from the tenement
assemblage. Even though the vessels were
clearly not from the same set, they both
displayed a similar blue sponge design that
covers practically the entire vessel and appears
somewhat smudged (Figure 6-11). This type of
decoration was found on a variety of tableware
forms in addition to mixing bowls, heavy pots,
and other kitchenware. It was frequently found
on stonewares and nonvitreous to semivitreous
wares produced by English and American
potteries, particularly those operating in New
Jersey and Ohio from 1860 to 1935 (Ketchum
1983:178,228-229).
All serving platters from the boardinghouse
assemblage were undecorated. The tenement
serving platters displayed molded, undecorated,
and transfer printed designs with no two vessels
being alike.
It appears that the tenement residents placed
more emphasis on decorated service vessels
while the boardinghouse occupants tended to
rely mainly on undecorated whitewares. This
suggests that perhaps meal time in the
tenements was characterized by more serving
vessels being taken directly from the kitchen to
the table, while the boardinghouse relied on
fewer serving vessels, thereby reducing the
number of vessles carried to and from the
kitchen. This would have cut down on washing-
up and meant boardinghouse keepers did not
have to buy lots of extra china that would
inevitably just get broken. In fact, country hotel
keepers were discouraged from serving "a
spoonful or two of everything in little individual
dishes sprinkled all around a guests plate" (Lane
1901: 17). Indeed, the were urged to abandon the
practice, as "it is almost impossible to
economically set a good table when this method
is employed" (Lane 1901: 17).
Mean Ceramic Assemblage Values
In recent years, several studies have used
Miller's (1980) ceramic indices as occupational
or status indicators (Spencer-Wood 1987;
LeeDecker et al. 1987). The underlying
assumption behind these studies is that
variations in the mean value of ceramic
assemblages can be related to changes in status,
and furthermore, to occupation.
Miller's (1980) indices were calculated by
using prices for decorative types of whiteware
cups and saucers, plates, and bowls for their year
of manufacture and primary sale. Price lists
from British potters and American distributors
were used to arrive at ratios reflecting the cost of
decorated whitewares in relation to cream
colored ware which was the least expensive.
Separate price indices were constructed for
cups, saucers, plates, and bowls using price lists
for years representing almost every decade:
from 1770 to 1880 for cups and saucers; from 1787
to 1874 for plates; and from 1802 to 1858 for
bowls. Mean ceramic assemblage values are
calculated by selecting an index year and
multiplying the ratios of whiteware prices by the
quantity of each decorative type in a given
assemblage. The sum of the these products is
then divided by the total number of vessels,
which provides the weighted mean cost ratio of
the archeological sample.
Most studies involving the use of Miller's
(1980) ceramic indices concentrate on ceramics
recovered from clearly defined deposits such as
refuse dumps, wells, and privies (Shepard 1987;
DeCunzo 1987). Because of the limited number
of vessels identified for both the tenement and
boardinghouse assemblages, analysis was not
restricted to vessels recovered from the richest
deposits but was broadened in scope to
encompass all vessels recovered from the
respective backlots. Even though this method
introduces some problems in arriving at reliable
mean ceramic dates, it does provide a larger,
more representative sample of the types and
variety of ceramics used by the household
residents.
Both the tenement and boardinghouse were
within the same temporal range of 1835 to 1918.
Mill records indicate that the boardinghouse
was designated as a storage structure by 1917
and the tenement likewise by 1918 (Bond 1987:
Ceramic Analysis 99
Figure 6-10. Large undecorated yellow ware bowl from the boardinghouse backlot. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-11. Sponge decorated stoneware bowls from the backlot excavations (1860-1935). (Photograph
by Richard S. Kanaski.)
200 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Appendix B). It can therefore be reasonably
assumed that no ceramic materials were
deposited in the backlots as a result of the
occupants' activities post-1917 for the
boardinghouse and post-1918 for the tenement.
The ceramics were analyzed using Miller's
(1989) latest index values for cups and saucers
(1881), plates (1874), and bowls (1858). These
values were chosen because they best
represented the mean date ranges for the
tenement and boardinghouse sites. The latest
index value for each type was used, and, in cases
where there was a missing value, the closest
available value was substituted.
Small differences in price are recorded by
Miller in some years for various plate sizes and
for handled versus unhandled cups, as well as
for unspecified cups and saucers. It was difficult
to identify different types of cups and sizes of
plates because the majority of sherds were quite
tiny, so index values were averaged for all plate
sizes in each type and as well as for all forms of
cups in an effort to obtain a single value of each
type for each year. As the prices between vessel
sizes appeared relatively small, it was deemed
best to average these values in an attempt to
arrive at a more representative price as opposed
to randomly selecting values for one plate size or
a particular type of cup.
The results of calculating the Miller indices for
the total ceramic assemblages from the
tenement and boardinghouse are presented in
Table 6-4. In order to evaluate the Miller
Ceramic Price Index results, it is necessary to
determine what can be viewed as a significant
difference between the two average index
values. This was accomplished by taking the
total combined range of index values for the
years used in the analysis (i.e., 1855, 1858, 1862,
1874, 1875, and 1881). The calculated range was
1.00-6.00. Therefore, using a level of significance
of 5 percent, any value equal to or less than .30
was not considered significantly different.
Table 6-4.
Summary of Miller index values.
Tenement
Boardinghouse
Index Val
ue
Bowls
1.40
1.49
Cups
3.5
2.44
Plates
1.31
1.23
Average
2.07
1.72
There is a difference of .35 between the
average index values for the tenement and
boardinghouse. The index values for cups and
saucers and plates is slightly higher for the
tenement assemblage, with the greatest
difference being between the values for cups
and saucers. For both the tenement and
boardinghouse the highest index values were for
cups and saucers followed by bowls and then
plates. Only for the cup and saucer category do
the calculated indices differ significantly (1.06).
This possibly reflects an increased emphasis by
the tenement residents on the status value of
ceramics used in tea or coffee drinking. By the
last half of the 19th century, a wide selection of
dinner and flatware services was accessible to all
socioeconomic levels. The indices for both the
tenement and the boardinghouse reflect the
impact of the availability of mass-produced
ceramic wares for household use.
Hypothesis Testing
The results of the hypothesis testing indicate
that for the variables quantity, quality, and
variety there was little variation between the
tenement and boardinghouse assemblages. The
similarity of the assemblages suggests that even
though tenement residents represented
predominantly nuclear households and were
afforded greater freedom in the purchase of
ceramics than the boardinghouse, the economic
restrictions placed upon them by mill life and
low wages acted as a stronger determinant in
household purchases than differences in
socioeconomic rank within the working class or
in family composition. The following data are
presented in support of this conclusion.
Hypothesis Testing for Quantity
The variable quantity was measured by the
total number of vessels per individual for both
the tenement and boardinghouse. Because the
assemblages reflect the ceramics used by
different households with a number of
associated users, an evaluative technique was
devised for making a more accurate comparison
between the two values. The number of
residents in 10-year increments from 1850 to
1910 were averaged for the boardinghouse and
tenement. The total number of ceramic vessels
was then divided by this figure, giving the
number of vessels per person.
Table 6-5 presents the results for the number
of vessels per person. These numbers are
somewhat high, but, as expected, there are
slightly more vessels per person for the
tenement than the boardinghouse. This
suggests that a table setting for the tenement
would have included more vessels per person,
reflecting a more specialized means of food
Ceramic Analysis 101
service and consumption. Foods such as
vegetables and other side dishes were likely
served separately as opposed to having all of the
food served on one plate and brought to the
table (or, concomitantly, brought to table on
platters or in large bowls and served onto only
one plate per person).
Table 6-5. Comparison <
af number of
ceramic vessels per
person.
Tenement
Boardinghouse
Average no. persons
Total refined vessels
5.0
71.0
17.5
168.0
Refined vessels/person
Total vessels
14.2
86.0
9.6
191.0
Vessels per person
17.2
10.9
Hypotheses Testing for Quality
The quality of the vessels was determined by
measuring three criteria within the ceramic data.
The first test involved the percentage of
porcelain, transfer printed ware, whiteware,
undecorated ware, and minimally decorated
ware within the totals of the boardinghouse and
tenement ceramics. The tenement assemblage
was expected to have a higher percentage of
porcelain and transfer printed wares reflecting
an increased awareness for status display in
tableware. As Table 6-6 illustrates, however, the
results are strikingly similar. The percentages
indicate that both assemblages displayed no
significant differences in all categories except
porcelain. The tenement assemblage contains
over three times the number of porcelain vessels
than the boardinghouse. This is primarily a
result of the large number of porcelain tea- and
coffeewares in the tenement, reflecting an
increased awareness in the status value of tea-
and coffeeware in addition to the opportunity of
tenement families to use tea and coffee in status
display activities such as serving tea, etc., to
guests — an activity not afforded boardinghouse
residents.
Table 6-6. Counts and percentages
of ceramic types
within total vessel counts.
Tenement
Boardinghouse
Ceramic Type
#
%
#
%
Porcelain
11
8.80
8
2.56
Transfer print
12
9.60
32
10.25
Whiteware
56
44.80
149
47.75
Undecorated
28
22.40
74
23.71
Minimal dec.
9
7.20
20
6.41
Molded
9
7.20
29
9.29
The second test used in determining the
quality of the ceramic vessels was a comparison
of the number of matched sets for each ceramic
type within the tenement and boardinghouse
assemblages. Vessels were identified as
matching if they displayed the same decorative
design. From both assemblages, the only
evidence indicating that a near-successful
attempt was made at matching vessels was
found in the appearance of a blue sponge
decorated bowl and cup from the tenement. No
matching vessels were identified from the
boardinghouse assemblage. The large number
of floral transfer printed tea- and coffeewares,
even though in different colors, possibly reflects
efforts in providing wares — particularly tea and
coffee forms— that were similar in design motif if
not in the exact pattern or color for the
boardinghouse residents. The presence of
several different molded patterns of edged ware
in both assemblages indicates that the residents
were replacing broken items of certain wares but
on the whole were not buying their ceramics in
bulk.
The third criterion for determining the quality
of the ceramics in the two assemblages is a
comparison of the Miller index values. As shown
earlier in Table 6-4, the average index values for
the two assemblages differ by .35, which was
calculated as significant. The highest index
values for both the boardinghouse and
tenement were for cups and saucers, followed by
bowls and plates. This suggests that tea- and
coffeeware occupied a central role in the
purchase of ceramic vessels. Bowls in both
assemblages have the second highest index
value. This perhaps reflects the importance of
bowls in the preparation and service of meals in
both the tenement and boardinghouse.
Hypothesis Testing for Variety
The percentages of various ceramic groupings
were evaluated to determine the degree of
variety of within boardinghouse and tenement
assemblages. The first comparison was among
the categories tableware, storage ware, and tea-
and coffeeware within the total ceramic
assemblage. The results, presented in Table 6-7,
illustrate that tableware and tea- and coffeeware
were the dominant ceramic groups in both
assemblages. The presence of 15% more
tableware within the boardinghouse assemblage
is the largest discernable difference among the
ceramic groupings. Both assemblages have
relatively similar percentages in the tea- and
coffeeware, serving flatware, and serving bowl
categories.
102 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
The comparison between serving flatware and
serving bowls is interesting in that the
percentages for serving flatware are consistently
higher than serving bowls for both assemblages.
Table 6-7. Table, storage, serving, and tea- and
coffeewares.
Table 6-8. Transfer printed flatware, edged flatware,
and banded bowls.
Tenement Boardinghouse
Functional Type
Tableware
Storage ware
Tea- arid coffeeware
Serving flatware
Serving bowls
#
19
9
28
13
10
%
24.05
11.39
35.44
16.45
12.65
#
71
11
56
40
16
%
36.59
5.67
28.86
20.61
8.24
The most notable difference is with the
boardinghouse data. Serving flatware
represents 12.5% more of the total vessels than
do the serving bowls. The tenement flatware, on
the other hand, is more equally represented,
there being a difference of only 3.49%. Landon's
(1987a and this volume) analysis of the faunal
material recovered from the Boott Mills
excavations helps shed some light on the food
purchasing patterns of the boardinghouse
keepers and thus the types of food prepared. An
examination of extant Lowell boardinghouse
dietaries reveals that beef was by far the most
frequently purchased meat followed by pork,
fish, veal, and lamb (Landon 1987a: 123-128).
Breaking these categories down further
illustrates that roast and corned beef were the
most common forms of beef served in addition
to smaller quantities of stew beef, tongue, and
tripe, while ham was the most frequent type of
pork (Landon 1987a: 128). As shown, the major
types of meat purchased for consumption at the
boardinghouses were all cuts that would have
been most effectively served on large platters.
Thus, the large percentage of serving flatware to
serving bowls is consistent with dietary and
faunal data.
The results of comparisons made among
transfer printed flatware, edged flatware, and
banded bowls for the tenement and
boardinghouse vessels are presented in Table 6-
8. The tenement assemblage had a slightly
higher percentage of transfer printed flatware
(difference of 3.08%) than the boardinghouse
assemblage. The percentages of edged ware
were relatively the same with the only noticeable
difference being the absence of banded bowls in
the tenement. In both cases the percentage of
edged ware was equal to or higher than transfer
printed flatware, suggesting a preference for less
expensive decorated flatware.
Tenement
Ceramic Group
Transfer Print
Banded Bowls
Edged Flatware
Boardinghouse
% TVC*
4.65
0.00
4.65
#
3
3
11
% TVC
1.57
1.57
5.75
*TVC = total vessel count
The types of vessel forms represented in each
assemblage were calculated using the
Identifiable Vessel Count. Because of the large
number of small vessel fragments, no
distinctions were made among the different
sizes of vessels or between handled and
unhandled cups. In an effort to provide a
meaningful comparison between vessel forms,
the total identifiable vessel count was divided by
the total number of forms from each
assemblage. The closer the results of this
calculation are to 1.00, the greater proportion of
vessels to forms. Likewise, the higher the
number, the smaller the proportion of vessels to
forms. The number of vessel forms represented
in the boardinghouse is slightly higher than the
tenement with the exceptions being the absence
of certain specialized forms such as basins, tea
pots, gravy boats, ale bottles, and jugs. Table 6-9
illustrates that the tenement had a slightly lower
value for the number of vessels per form
indicating a greater proportion of vessels per
form for the tenement. The differences between
the two assemblages, however, is partly a result
of a higher vessel count for the boardinghouse
and may also be affected by different patterns of
refuse deposition in the backlots.
Table 6-9. Summary of vessels per form.
IVC*
Total vessel forms
Vessels per form
Tenement Boardinghouse
75
10
7.5
168
14
11.7
*IVC = Identified vessel count.
Summary of Hypothesis Testing
Because of the small number of vessels
recovered from the tenement and
boardinghouse backlots, use of the chi-square
test for significance was not a valid evaluative
technique, as vessel totals for many categories
fell below five. It was, therefore, deemed best to
evaluate the results of the hypotheses testing
Ceramic Analysis 103
based on the relative differences between the
percentages of the ceramic groups compared.
Hypothesis Testing for Quantity
Data testing the quantity of artifacts between
the two assemblages clearly supports the
hypothesis that the tenement will have a greater
number of vessels per person than the
boardinghouse. As shown, there are more
vessels per individual for the tenement than the
boardinghouse. Therefore, class affiliation and
family structure appear to affect the quantity of
vessels purchased by a household's residents
with an increase in class status resulting in a
greater number of vessels per person.
Hypotheses Testing for Quality
Results of tests evaluating the quality of the
boardinghouse and tenement ceramic
assemblages were as predicted except in one
case. The percentage of transfer printed wares
for the boardinghouse was slightly higher than
the tenement (2.8%), but, as shown, this
difference is far from significant. The number of
matched vessels per assemblage is quite small.
The appearance of a blue sponge cup and bowl
represent the only visible attempts at providing
matched sets, and, as sponge decorated ware
was quite popular and inexpensive during the
19th century, the two vessels may or may not be
from a complete set. The lack of other sponge
decorated vessel forms in the tenement
assemblage indicates that it was highly unlikely
that a complete set of this ware was purchased.
Calculated mean ceramic values for the two
assemblages, using the Miller Price Index,
yielded the expected results. The tenement
assemblage average value was significantly
higher (.35) than the boardinghouse assemblage
value. This difference is partially a result of the
large number of porcelain tea- and coffeewares
recovered from the tenement backlot. These
wares could have been heirlooms or curated
pieces in addition to signalling a purchasing
preference for porcelain tea- and coffeewares.
Based on the data analyzed, the variable quality
does not appear to significantly reflect the
ceramic purchasing patterns of different social
classes within the mill labor force.
Hypotheses Testing for Variety
Test implications for the variable variety
yielded mixed results. There is no significant
difference for the categories tableware, storage
ware, tea- and coffeeware, serving flatware, and
serving bowls between the tenement and
boardinghouse assemblages. There does,
however, appear to be an interesting comparison
of serving flatware to serving bowls within the
boardinghouse ceramics. The larger percentage
of serving flatware reflects the dietary habits of
the residents as demonstrated in the faunal data
(Landon, Chapter 9, this volume).
The percentage of printed flatware from the
tenement was slightly higher than the
boardinghouse value but the difference was not
enough to be considered significant. As
expected, there were fewer banded bowls in the
tenement ceramics, in fact none, as compared to
the boardinghouse, with the percentages of
edged flatware being relatively equal.
The number of vessels per form supports the
test implication for variety. Data from the
tenement illustrate that there was more
variation in the forms of vessels used than for
the boardinghouse. Values for both
assemblages on the whole reflect little variation
among the ceramic vessel forms. This can be
partially attributed to the fact that no
distinctions were made between different sized
plates, bowls, and cups, because of the
fragmentary nature of the assemblages.
The results of the hypothesis testing for the
variables quantity, quality, and variety within the
ceramic assemblages of the boardinghouse and
tenement indicate that only the variable
quantity can be reliably related to household
composition and social standing. Nuclear
families, such as those who commonly lived in
the tenements, purchased more tableware per
person indicating a more specialized meal
service and presumably more genteel dining
ambiance than in the boardinghouse. Test
implications for quality and variety produced no
significant results, primarily because both the
boardinghouse and tenement residents were
operating at different socioeconomic levels
within the same class and, though worthy of note,
these differences were not great enough to
produce significant statistical patterning in the
ceramic assemblage.
Dating
Ceramic terminus post quem dates were
calculated for features with four or more vessels
present. Dates were based on decorative styles
including molded patterns in addition to
manufacturer's marks found within the
associated feature (Table 6-10).
104 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 6-10. Ceramic terminus post quern by
feature.
Feature #
Feature type
TPQ*
Tenement
Feature 25
wall disturbance
1880
Feature 27
planting hole
1900
Feature 43
well
1881
Feature 45
privy
1880
Boardinghouse
Feature 7
wall disturbance
1880
Feature 61
privy
1900
Feature 65
planting hole
1830
*TPQ = Terminus
post quern.
Ceramic Terminus Post Quern by Feature
Operation A
Four features uncovered in the tenement
backlot were assigned ceramic terminus post
quern dates. Feature 25 was the designation
given to the fill of a portion of the cellar of the
tenement (see Chapter 5, this volume). A
ceramic terminus post quern date of 1880 was
assigned to this feature based on the presence of
an unidentified gold gilded whiteware fragment.
Feature 27 was a planting hole located parallel
to the rear wall of the tenement and in between
the bulkhead entrance and ell. The ceramic
TPQ of 1900 was justified by the presence of a
banded plate that had a series of concentric blue
and red bands around the rim. This type of
decoration was popular on vessels early in the
20th century as evidenced by their appearance
in mail-order catalogs of the period (Majewski
and O'Brien 1987: 160)
A well located to the north of the tenement
well was designated as Feature 43. A ceramic
TPQ of 1881 was given to this feature because its
fill produced a sherd bearing a Knowles, Taylor
and Knowles Company manufacturer's mark.
The mark exhibited an eagle crest along with the
phrase "Warenteed Granite" which was printed
by the company after 1881.
Feature 45, located at the rear of the tenement
backlot, was a privy. A porcelain bowl with gold
gilding and a decal decoration provided the
justification for assigning a 1880 ceramic TPQ for
the privy. Decal printed designs often appeared
in conjunction with gold gilding (Henry and
Garrow 1982b: 468) and were popular on
porcelain wares from 1880 to 1920 (Jacobs 1983:
22).
Operation B
The boardinghouse backlot produced 3
features that contained 4 or more vessels.
Feature 7 was a trench associated with the ell
foundation of the boardinghouse. An
unidentified porcelain vessel with a scalloped
rim displayed gilding that was identified as
liquid gold. This technique of decoration began
to appear around 1880, thus, providing the
ceramic TPQ (Pittman et al. 1987: 54).
Feature 61, the privy, was located at the rear of
the boardinghouse backlot. Its fill produced
fragments of a whiteware cup with a pink, green,
and yellow decal decoration, along with gold
gilding. Decal decoration on earthenwares did
not reach popularity until after 1900, thus
providing the basis for assigning a ceramic TPQ
of 1900 to the privy.
An oblong planting hole was identified as
Feature 65 and was located next to the rear wall
of the boardinghouse southwest of the well. A
ceramic TPQ of 1830 was assigned to the
planting hole based on the presence of a
impressed blue shell edged plate. The blue
decoration was applied around the rim over the
impressed shell motif, a technique that began as
early as 1830 (Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 151).
The ceramic terminus post quern data
indicate that all the features analyzed, except for
Feature 65, were filled in the last quarter of the
19th century or later. These relatively late dates
are a result of the late infilling of features (other
artifact analyses suggest even later dates — cf.
Chapters 8, 9, and 11, this volume) and the
expected lack of survival of earlier deposits (but
see Kelso and Fisher in Chapter 13, this volume).
Manufacturer's Marks
Ceramic vessels often have marks on their
bases that are referred to as backmarks. These
marks are usually either impressed, stenciled,
transfer printed, or painted on the bottom of the
ceramic vessel. The marks may be applied to
the vessel using any of a variety of techniques or
a combination thereof, such as incising or
scratching the soft unfired clay, impressing one
or more stamps into the unfired paste or by
painting, transfer printing or stenciling over or
under the glaze (Cushion 1980: 5). A careful and
thorough analysis of these marks can often
reveal information regarding the date of
manufacture, company affiliation, and
importing practices, as well as other types of
marketing information (Majewski and O'Brien
1987: 165).
Many of the backmarks that appear on
English ceramics of the 19th century are
characterized by sharply defined underglazed
black transfer prints. It was not uncommon,
however, for vessels with transfer printed
decorative patterns to have the backmark
Ceramic Analysis 105
printed on the base in the same color as the
transfer printed pattern. There were three
commonly used backmarks motifs (i.e., the royal
arms, the royal garter, and the Staffordshire
knot), to which were frequently added the name
of the manufacturer. In addition to the name of
the manufacturer, it was also typical for the type
of ware to be printed along with the mark (e.g.,
ironstone, granite) as well as any number of
workman's marks or diamond-shaped patent
registration symbols (Majewski and O'Brien
1987: 166). Godden points out that other designs
that appeared rather frequently included the
Prince of Wales' feather crest, crowns, and the
eagle (1964: 257). It was a common practice for
English potters who were actively pursuing the
American market to incorporate the eagle in
some fashion into their marks in an effort to
appeal to this growing and potentially profitable
market.
Unlike English pottery, American ceramics
produced before 1850 were rarely marked with
any kind of symbol whatsoever. It was not until
after 1850 that American potters began the
practice of marking their wares. One of the
reasons that has been given for the sudden
appearance of backmarks on American pottery
was an increased effort on the part of American
pottery manufacturers to shift the American
consumers' interests from the traditional English
ceramic market. This trend was particularly
evident when familiar English symbols were
copied by American potters through the late
1880s (Gates and Ormerod 1982: 9-10).
Printed backmarks on American ceramic
vessels generally tend to be blurred and
somewhat difficult to read. Overall, American
marks are of distinctly poorer quality than
English marks. In addition, from the time period
of 1875 to 1910, American marks were
characterized by either extremely elaborate
shapes and designs, or were very simple,
exhibiting only the company name, shape, or
name of the pattern in script or block letters
(Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 167).
Often, a search of the documentary sources on
ceramic manufacturers will provide the
researcher with enough information to safely
assign a time span for the backmark in question;
this is particularly true of late 19th-century
marked wares. A frequently used benchmark is
the enactment of the McKinley Tariff Act in the
United States in 1891. In essence, this bill was
designed to protect American industries and
sought to do so by requiring that manufactured
articles of various materials, that were imported
into the United States, be clearly marked with
the name of the country of origin. As a result,
many researchers commonly make the mistake
of jumping to the conclusion that all wares that
are not marked with the country of origin
predate 1891. The McKinley Tariff Act was put
into effect on October 6, 1890 (Collard 1984: 323).
Therefore, it is true that by 1891, most potters
who were exporting ceramic vessels to the
United States had begun to mark their wares
with the name of the country of origin. As a
general rule, when the phrase "Made in
England" appears on the base of a vessel, as
opposed to "England," the piece was
manufactured in the 20th century. As Collard
notes, this does not necessarily mean that when
the word "England" appears alone that a
particular vessel was produced in the 19th
century, but on the contrary, that the phrase
"Made in England" will only appear on ceramic
vessels manufactured in the 20th century (1984:
324).
Two final notes of caution should be heeded
when using the enactment of the McKinley
Tariff Act as a means of dating ceramic vessel
backmarks. First, there were certainly instances
prior to the tariff act of 1891 when the name of
the country was applied to the mark. One such
example can be found in the printed marks used
on the wares produced before 1890 by Anthony
Shaw of Burslem (Collard 1984: 324). Second, it
should be kept in mind that American pottery
manufacturers were under no obligation by the
tariff act to print the name of the country of
origin on their wares. Therefore, it would be
quite common for a piece of white ironstone to
have no printed evidence whatsoever of the
country of origin because it was produced in the
late 19th or early 20th century by an American
potter.
Extreme care should be exercised when
identifying American-made ceramics of the late
19th century, as it was noted earlier that it was
quite common for American manufacturers to
imitate English marks on their wares in an
attempt to increase their marketability. A
misidentification of a mark could attribute the
mark and the vessel in question to the wrong
country, or worse, date the mark earlier than
when the vessel was actually made.
Occasionally one will find a date incorporated
in the backmark on the base of a vessel, which is
oftentimes mistaken for the actual date of
manufacture for the piece. As Collard points
out, this date more than likely refers to founding
of the factory that is associated with the
particular mark (1984: 324). Hence the analyst
must avoid drawing unsubstantiated conclusions
when there is a printed date associated with the
backmark.
106 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
CLASS
YEAR-
MONTH-
DAYOF
MONTH
PARCEL NUMBER
CLASS
DAYOF MONTH
PARCEL-
NUMBER
-YEAR
-MONTH
Figure 6-12. Diamond trademark registration. (Reproduced from Godden 1964:527-528)
Another somewhat useful tool for the dating of
backmarks on 19th-century ceramics is the use
of the word "Limited" or an abbreviation of the
same after the name on the mark of the English
firm that produced the ware. Marks of this type
always date after the mid-19th century, and
more frequently, to the late Victorian period
(Collard 1984: 324).
Also, the use of the word 'Trade Mark" or
'Trademark," a direct result of the passage of
the Merchandise Marks Act of 1862, can be
helpful in assigning dates to backmarks. It was
not common, however, for the actual word
'Trade Mark" to appear in the backmark of a
vessel until after August 13, 1875, at which time
the Trade Marks Registration Act was passed
(Collard 1984: 324).
One of the most reliable dating methods for
19th-century ceramics is the presence of a
diamond-shaped mark that indicates that the
vessel form or pattern was registered with the
British Patent Office. These marks can be dated
with relative ease to within a few years of the
pattern's registration. The diamond-shaped
marks were either printed under the glaze or
impressed into the paste of the vessel and were
used from 1842 until 1883 (Collard 1984: 325). In
the corners of the diamond are found letters and
numbers that form a code giving the actual year,
month, and day that the registration was granted
(Figure 6-12). At times it is also possible, by
referring to the Class IV Design Index from the
British Public Records Office, to find the patent
number and the name of the firm that registered
the design (Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 168).
The key to the code for deciphering the dates
is shown below, along with a brief discussion
concerning its use. The dates indicated by these
registry marks simply refer to the earliest
possible date that an item could have been
produced under that particular registration. The
initial registration of a form or design lasted only
three years, and, after that time period had
elapsed, a new registration had to be obtained.
Thus, registration marks can only be used to
determine terminus post quern dates since a
form or design was often re-registered after its
initial three-year period.
At the top of the diamond-shaped registration
mark is a circle with a Roman numeral inside.
This numeral indicates the class of material
affected such as wood, metal, glass, or ceramics.
All ceramic forms were registered with the
Roman numeral IV. From 1842-1867, the
number located directly below the circle
indicated the year; the letter in the left-hand
corner of the diamond represented the month,
while the figure in the right portion of the
diamond referred to the day of the month.
Finally, the number positioned at the base of the
diamond corresponded to the parcel number for
the particular documents relating to the
registration that were filed at the Patent Office.
This arrangement for the letters and numbers
was standard for diamond-shaped registration
marks until 1868. It was during this year that the
positioning of the numbers and letters was
changed, and a new code was devised to identify
the year of the pattern registration (Collard 1984:
327). From 1868 until diamond-shaped
registration marks were discontinued in 1883, the
year was represented by the letter in the right-
hand corner of the diamond; the month was
indicated by the letter at the bottom, with the
day of the month appearing directly beneath the
Roman numeral IV. The parcel number for
Ceramic Analysis 107
registrations during this period was found in the
left-hand corner of the mark.
In 1884, the British Patent Office replaced the
diamond-shaped marks with registration
numbers (Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 169).
These numbers were imprinted on vessel bases
and were preceded by an "Rd" or an "Rd.No."
By the end of the 19th century, the numbers had
already totaled more than 350,000 (Collard 1984:
326; Cushion 1980: 5).
By examining backmarks on ceramic vessels
one may glean the name of the company that
manufactured the ware, in addition to some
approximation of the time frame within which
the vessel was produced. Also, the styles and
colors of the marks under study often provide
information regarding the nature of the ware or
the decorative attributes of the particular vessel.
For instance, Josiah Spode II around 1800 began
the practice of printing the name of the transfer
printed pattern used on the bottom of the vessel
(Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 169). Little notes
that soon after Spode began this practice,
pattern names began to appear within
ornamental scrolls and that by the period 1830 to
1840, inclusion of pattern names within foliated
and flowery cartouches and wreaths was a
common practice throughout the ceramic
industry (1969: 35, 96). Generally, pattern marks
carried no information concerning the company
that manufactured the piece; it has been noted,
however, that on occasion one might be able to
identify the pottery by examining the shape of
the scroll or cartouche in which the pattern
name was printed (Little 1969: 31).
For the 19th century, the majority of white
ironstone wares produced had a maker's mark
in some form, along with the company's name,
transfer printed in black on the base of the
vessel. Other types of decorated wares, such as
spatterware, banded ware, handpainted floral or
shell edge ware, and the majority of the early soft
paste porcelain, were seldom marked (Majewski
and O'Brien 1987: 170).
In sum, a thorough and careful examination of
backmarks on the base of ceramic vessels can
frequently provide valuable information. Often
it is possible to determine the date, or at least a
relatively precise range, when the vessel was
manufactured, the company affiliation,
importing practices, as well as other data
relating to marketing and purchasing patterns.
Even though backmarks seem to provide the
archeologist with precise dates, these can at
times be misleading and hence should be
analyzed within the proper historical context as
well as within the contaxt of the overall
assemblage in which they occur.
Archeological Data
Excavations of the backlots for the Boott Mills
units #45 and #48 yielded a total of 45 ceramic
vessel fragments with some portion of a
manufacturer's mark visible. In addition to
these 45 fragments, two partial marks referred to
the name of the particular pattern used to
decorate the vessel. None of the sherds had
workman's marks that would have been placed
on the vessel by the actual individual who made
the ceramic item.
Of the 45 sherds with manufacturer's marks,
only 17 could be positively traced to the
company that produced the vessel and mark.
The two transfer printed pattern marks
recovered were relatively complete; only one
could be identified to the pattern name and
manufacturer. Following is a detailed discussion
and description, proceeding by operation and
provenience, of those marks that were
identifiable.
Operation A
Four ceramic vessel fragments with
identifiable backmarks were recovered from
excavations of the backlot associated with the
Boott Mills unit #48, a former tenement. In
addition to the three maker's marks, one vessel
fragment bore a portion of an identifiable
pattern mark.
SAMPSON, BRIDGEWOOD & SON (LTD) 8N10W1
The partial base of a small whiteware plate was
retrieved during excavations in Operation A
from the provenience 8N10W level 1, inside the
foundation of unit #48. Transfer printed on the
base is approximately one-half of the remaining
manufacturers mark. The actual mark is printed
in a light reddish brown color and displays a
portion of a crest, alongside the name of the
pottery, which appears underneath the crest.
Also appearing at the top of the crest are the two
letters "PO. . .," possibly referring to pottery
(Figure 6-13). This particular mark was
identified as being produced by Sampson,
Bridgewood & Son (Ltd) of the Anchor Pottery,
Longton, Staffordshire (Godden 1964: 101). The
pottery was established in 1805 and was known
for its manufacture of earthenware and
porcelain, which it produced prior to 1887
(Godden 1964: 101). It was not until 1853,
however, that Sampson, Bridgewood & Son (Ltd)
began printing marks on their ceramic vessels.
By 1884, one begins to see variations in the types
of printed crests for this company. The actual
108 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
mark recovered at Lowell is such a variation, and
therefore can be accurately dated to post-1884.
Since this particular vessel was manufactured in
England, the absence of the word "England" in
the maker's mark helps us to date the
production of this item much more closely to
between the years 1884 and 1891.
AMERICAN CROCKERY COMPANY 2N4W
(FEATURE 24)
An identifiable maker's mark was retrieved
from feature 24, a dark circular soil stain
believed to be a post hole, that was located in
provenience 2N4W. This particular ceramic
sherd is from an unidentifiable vessel form, and
once again, only displays approximately one-half
of the transfer printed maker's mark. Printed in
black, the mark exhibits the royal arms with the
words "IRO[NSTONE CHINA)" printed above
(Figure 6-14). This mark was found to belong to
the American Crockery Company, Trenton, New
Jersey, which began producing bisque and white
granite wares in 1876 Marks of American Potters
(Barber 1904: 59-60). A clue for the dating of this
piece was that the American Crockery Co. did
not start printing this particular mark on white
granite ware in black until ca. 1890 (Barber 1904:
59-60). Thus, we can safely say that this vessel
was manufactured sometime after ca. 1890. The
use of the royal arms by the American Crockery
Co. is a good example of an American pottery
imitating British marks. As was mentioned
earlier, this practice became quite popular in the
late 19th century as American firms attempted
various marketing strategies to lure the
American consumer away from the traditionally
British dominated ceramic market (Gates and
Ormerod 1982: 9-10).
KNOWLES, TAYLOR AND KNOWLES COMPANY
8N6W (FEATURE 43 LEVEL E)
A whiteware ceramic sherd with an
identifiable maker's mark was excavated from
level E of feature 43 in provenience 8N6W. This
feature was a well and was not fully excavated
because of safety precautions. The fragment is
from an unidentifiable vessel form and has a
maker's mark transfer printed in black on the
base. The mark consists of a crest along with the
word "WAR[RENTEED1" printed along the top of
the crest and the initials "K.T.[K]" across the
bottom with "CRANIJTE WARE]" printed beneath
(Figure 6-15). The manufacturer was identified
as the Knowles, Taylor & Knowles Company
which of East Liverpool, Ohio. The company was
established in 1854 by Isaac W. Knowles and
Isaac A. Harvey (Barber 1904: 108-109). The two
individuals began the pottery works with one kiln
producing predominantly yellow wares. In 1870
Mr. Knowles, who by this time had become the
sole proprietor, formed a partnership with Col.
John N. Taylor and Homer S. Knowles.
Approximately two years later the company
began their first production of white granite ware
(Barber 1904: 108-109). In 1891 Joseph G. Lee
and Willis A. Knowles joined the firm, at which
time a stock company was incorporated under
the name of Knowles, Taylor & Knowles Co. Of
the various products manufactured, the most
prominent, was the white granite, semivitreous
porcelain, and hotel china (Barber 1904: 108-
109). The presence of the eagle crest along with
the phrase "WAR[RENTEED GRANITE]" indicates
that this particular vessel was in use after 1881.
The actual date range, however, can be large as
Knowles, Taylor & Knowles Co. are still in
business today, operating approximately 35 kilns
and employing upwards of 700 individuals
(Barber 1904: 108-109).
JOHN ALCOCK POTTERY 4N0W (FEATURE 45 LEVEL
A)
One whiteware tea cup fragment was obtained
from feature 45 level A which was defined as the
privy in provenience 4N0W located at the rear
of the backlot for the tenement unit #48. The
vessel has panelled sides and displays a
complete diamond-shaped registration symbol
that is transfer printed in black. This particular
mark contains the name of the manufacturer,
which is printed above the mark, as well as the
location of the pottery, which is printed below the
mark (Figure 6-16). The vessel was produced by
the John Alcock Pottery, Cobridge, Staffordshire
Potteries. This particular pottery was in
operation from 1853 until 1861 and produced
predominantly earthenwares (Godden 1964: 27).
The company was later named Henry Alcock &
Co. and was known for its distinguishing detail
on marks of differing designs (Godden 1964: 27).
The vessel's diamond-shaped registration mark
can be dated to within three years of the actual
date of manufacture, with the aid of a code
provided by Godden (1964). For this particular
mark, the year of the patent design appears in
the upper portion of the diamond under the
class IV indicating that this registration was of
the kind in use between the years 1842 and 1867.
The decoding of the mark points to the date of
registration as March 21, 1848 with the actual
parcel number being 8. Because enough of the
tea cup exists to safely determine that the vessel
was undecorated, it can then be inferred that it
Ceramic Analysis 109
£
4
k
m
■ .
Figure 6-13. Sampson, Bridgewood & Son (LTD)
of the Anchor Pottery, Longton, Staffordshire
Potteries (1884-1891). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.)
Figure 6-14. American Crockery Company,
Trenton, New Jersey (post-1890). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
d
1
I
Figure 6-15. Knowles, Taylor & Knowles
Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1881).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-16. John Alcock Pottery, Cobridge,
Staffordshire Potteries (1848-1851). (Photograph
by Richard S. Kanaski.)
110 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 6-17. U. & R. Boote Ltd, Waterloo,
Burslem, Staffordshire Potteries (1853-1856).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-18. John Edwards & Company, King
Street, Fenton, Staffordshire Potteries
(1891-1900). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-19. Homer Laughlin China Company,
East Liverpool, Ohio (1879-1897), pattern mark
"Colonial" printed beneath. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-20. Warwick China Company,
Wheeling, West Virginia (1879-1900).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Ceramic Analysis 111
was the form of the vessel that was registered
with the Patent Office and not the decoration.
As Majewski and O'Brien have noted, potters
did not register all of their wares, but generally
only those that they thought were likely to be
copied (1987: 169). Therefore, it is quite probable
that this particular tea cup represented a rather
popular form during the mid- to late 19th
century. Once again, registrations were only
valid for three years, thus, this particular vessel
was manufactured sometime during the period
March 21, 1848 to March 21, 1851.
REGINA PATTERN, ENOCH WOOD & SONS 2N8W
(FEATURE 27)
One whiteware plate fragment with a partial
transfer printed pattern mark was recovered
from feature 27 which is a large oblong dark soil
stain believed to be a planting hole located in
provenience 2N8W. On the base of the plate
near the footring, slightly off-center, appears a
partial transfer printed pattern mark in the same
color as the floral pattern on the interior of the
plate. The actual pattern name is printed on a
banner that is draped across a floral design,
once again similar to that which is displayed on
the interior of the plate. The name of the
pattern, "Regina," is printed in block letters with
the partial name of the manufacturer, Enoch
Wood and Sons, printed underneath. This
particular pottery was in operation from 1759 to
1846.
Operation B
A total of 13 ceramic vessel fragments was
recovered from Operation B excavations in the
backlot of the Boott Mills boardinghouse unit
#45. These artifacts will be discussed in the
following paragraphs along with descriptions
and information relating to the manufacturers.
T. MCNICOL POTTERY 17N0W1, 19N8W1
A single tea cup saucer fragment and a small
plain saucer fragment, both with a similar black
transfer printed maker's mark on the base were
recovered archeologically from proveniences
17N0W level 1 and 19N8W level 1 respectively.
The symbol used by the manufacturer consists
of a shield flanked by a lion and a unicorn with
an eagle overhead. Above this crest appears the
word "WARRENTEED" while below is the potter's
name. The mark on these particular saucers
belonged to the D.E. McNicol Pottery Company
which was in operation from 1892 until 1954
(Gates and Ormerod 1982: 185-186). The
company came about as a result of a takeover by
Daniel Edward McNicol, who in 1892 became
the president of McNicol, Burton and Company
which preceded D.E. McNicol Pottery Co. (Gates
and Ormerod 1982: 185-186). The pottery was
most noted for its production of yellow ware,
Rockingham ware, and white ironstone which it
marketed as "semi-granite" ware. In 1902 the
firm purchased a second plant that it devoted
solely to the manufacture of Rockingham and
yellow wares while it continued to produce
ironstone at the original works. In addition to the
purchase of a second plant, a new large pottery
was built at Clarksburg, West Virginia in 1914
while a fourth plant was added five years later in
East Liverpool, Ohio. During the first quarter of
the 20th century, the D.E. McNicol Co. produced
hotel, dinner, and toilet wares in semi-granite,
semi-porcelain, and cream-colored ware. The
firm also continued to manufacture yellow ware
products as late as 1927, which made them the
last pottery in East Liverpool to produce vessels
from the local clay (Gates and Ormerod 1982:
185-186). The specialties of the D.E. McNicol
Co. were cited as calendar and souvenir plates
that were produced in a variety of styles and
decorative motifs. The West Virginia plant, on
the other hand, concentrated on plain white and
vitrified china for " cafes, clubs, hotels, hospitals,
institutions, railroads, restaurants, and
steamships." The two saucers recovered
archeologically displayed manufacturer's marks
that were used by the D.E. McNicol Co. after
1900. Unfortunately not enough of the vessels
survived to be able to determine whether or not
the pieces were decorated, and thus, from which
plant they possibly came.
U. & R. BOOTE LTD. 17N0W (FEATURE 61)
Feature 61, which is a stone lined privy located
in provenience 17N0W at the rear of the backlot
for boardinghouse unit #45, contained one
whiteware fragment with an identifiable maker's
mark. Unfortunately, there is not enough of the
sherd remaining to determine the precise form
of the vessel. On the base of this fragment is a
circular stamp at the top of which is the partial
manufacturer's name, "BOOTE" and at the
bottom the name of the style of the vessel,
"SYDENHAM SHAPE" (Figure 6-17). The mark
was identified as that of T.& R. Boote Ltd.
Waterloo, Burslem, Staffordshire Potteries. The
firm was established in 1842 and was known for
its production of earthenwares, parian wares,
112 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 6-21. Cook Pottery Company, Trenton,
New Jersey (post-1894).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-22. International Pottery Company,
Trenton, New Jersey (post-1903). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-23. Taylor, Smith & Taylor Company,
East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1901). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 6-24. Goodwin Pottery, East Liverpool,
Ohio (post-1844). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.)
Ceramic Analysis 113
and tiles (Godden 1964: 526-527). In the center
of the circular stamp is a diamond-shaped
registration mark, indicating that the vessel form
was registered with the British Patent Office.
This particular ceramic fragment has the code
for the year printed in the top corner of the
diamond which corresponds with a date for
pattern registration of 1853. The other codes
indicate that it was actually on September 3, 1853
when this pattern, the "SYDENHAM SHAPE" was
registered. The parcel number, which is located
at the bottom, is two. As always, one must keep
in mind that pattern registrations were good for
only three years before they had to be renewed.
As a result, this particular vessel was produced
sometime between September 3, 1853 and
September 3, 1856.
FRENCH CHINA COMPANY 17N2W LEVEL 1
One small whiteware fragment was retrieved
from the provenience 17N2W level 1 in the
backlot of unit #45. Unfortunately, the sherd is
too small to be able to identify the actual type of
vessel, however, there is enough remaining of
the base with the associated maker's mark to be
able to determine the manufacturer of the ware.
The partial mark is transfer printed in a light
reddish brown color with the letters "FRANC. . ."
in script visible. This mark belonged to the
French China Company that operated out of
East Liverpool, Ohio (Gates and Ormerod 1982:
47-49). The company was organized by the
Sebring brothers and began operation in 1898.
The firm was locally known as "klondyke"
because of its great distance from the center of
town (Gates and Ormerod 1982: 47^9). The
pottery was best known for its production of
semi-porcelain dinner, tea, and toilet wares in
addition to "special novelties." In 1901 the
company moved its plant to Sebring , Ohio
because the owners stated that they were, "...not
content to follow the antiquated methods of a
past generation..." (Gates and Ormerod 1982: 47-
49). At the new plant, they did continued to
produce their quality semi-porcelain wares. In
1916 O.H. Sebring formed the Sebring
Manufacturing Corporation which functioned as
a holding company for French China, Strong
Manufacturing Co., and the Saxon China Co.,
however, it was clear that each company
continued to operate independently until 1929 at
which time the holding company joined the
American Chinaware Corporation. The mark on
the fragment recovered from Operation B
excavations is an example of the French China
Company's mark displayed on semivitreous
wares from ca. 1898 until 1916 (Gates and
Ormerod 1982: 47^9).
JOHN EDWARDS & CO. 19N4W1
A whiteware ceramic sherd from an
unidentified vessel form was recovered during
excavations of provenience 19N4W level 1 in
Operation B. The mark present on the base of
the fragment is transfer printed in black and
bears the partial name of the manufacturer,
"JOHN EDWARDS," as well as the word
"TRADEMARK" and "ENGLAND" (Figure 6-18).
This mark was a product of the John Edwards &
Co., King Street, Fenton, Staffordshire Potteries.
The Edwards pottery began operation in 1847
and ceased producing ceramic wares in 1900
(Godden 1964: 231). The company started
marking its wares with various impressed or
printed marks of differing designs from ca. 1847
until 1873. At this time, "& Co." was added to the
mark for the remainder of the firms operating
days (Godden 1964: 231). The actual mark
recovered from behind Boott Mills unit #45
offers several clues leading to the determination
of a date of manufacture. To begin with, the
style of the mark is indicative of that used by the
John Edwards Co. for the period 1880 to 1900
(Godden 1964: 231). In addition to the actual
style of the mark, the presence of the word
"ENGLAND" indicates that this particular vessel
was manufactured after 1890 when the McKinley
Tariff Act was put into effect. Likewise, the
appearance of the word 'Trademark" further
demonstrates that the piece was produced at
least after 1875 when the Trade Marks
Registration Act was passed (Collard 1984: 324).
This information allows us to say confidently that
this fragment of John Edwards & Co.
manufactured vessel was produced sometime
between 1891 and 1900 when the company
ceased to produce ceramic wares.
HOMER LAUGHLIN CHINA COMPANY 19N6W1
The fragments of a small plate were collected
from provenience 19N6W level 1 which is
located in the backlot of unit #45. The plate
fragments have a decalcomania floral
decoration on the interior in pink, blue, and
green. On the base is evidence of a partial
maker's mark that was transfer printed in a light
olive green color (Figure 6-19). The mark
belongs to the Homer Laughlin China Company
which operated from East Liverpool, Ohio. The
pottery was founded by Homer and
Shakespeare Laughlin and functioned under the
name of Laughlin Brothers (Barber 1904: 110-
314 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
111). From 1879 until 1897, Homer operated the
business alone and in the latter year the name
changed to the Homer Laughlin China
Company (Barber 1904: 110-111). The factory
manufactured predominantly white granite
ware, although in later years semivitreous china
and higher grade wares were produced. On the
white granite wares, the mark used by this
company reflected the supremacy of American
ceramic wares over British ceramics — an
American eagle standing over the British lion.
This same mark was also displayed with a ring on
semivitreous china toilet and table services with
the name of the pattern being printed beneath,
such as "COLONIAL," "GOLDEN GATE," and "AN
AMERICAN BEAUTY" (Barber 1904: 110-111).
The particular plate fragment that was
recovered during excavations of Operation B
was just such a mark with the pattern name
being "COLONIAL."
WARWICK CHINA COMPANY 19N8W1
Provenience 19N8W1, located in a corner
between the ell extension and the rear of unit
#45, yielded a small fragment of whiteware from
an unidentifiable vessel. Printed on the base of
this fragment is the partial word ". . .RWICK" in
black transfer printed block letters (Figure 6-20).
The mark belongs to the Warwick China
Company which was located in Wheeling, West
Virginia. The pottery was organized in 1887 and
produced mainly semi-porcelain toilet and table
goods (Barber 1904: 152). The first manufacturer
marks used by the Warwick China Co. were
characterized by a helmet and crossed swords
which was later adopted around 1892 for the
marking of novelties in semi-porcelain (Barber
1904: 152). From 1893 until 1898, the "WARWICK
SEMI- PORCELAIN" mark was used and from 1898
until the present, the ware has been stamped
with the name "WARWICK CHINA" (Barber
1904: 152). Because so little of the actual maker's
mark exists, one would be hard pressed to place
the date of manufacture for this piece to any
time period other than sometime after the
founding of the pottery in 1887.
A second whiteware ceramic fragment was
recovered from the same provenience, 19N8W
level 1. The medium size bowl base sherd
displays a green transfer printed mark with a
floral wreath and a globe in the center (Figure 6-
23). This particular mark was used by the
Burford Brothers Pottery Company which was
located in East Liverpool, Ohio. The pottery was
in operation from 1879 until 1900 and specialized
in plain white and decorated semi-porcelain
wares (Thome 1947: 120). During the course of
their existence, the Burford Brothers Pottery
used a variety of marks such as a shield that was
displayed on their general ware, and the word
"HOTEL" which was printed on their hotelwares,
in addition to several other marks including the
one represented in the Lowell assemblage
(Barber 1904: 116). Because there are no precise
indicators as to the date of manufacture for this
particular mark, we can only say that the vessel
was produced sometime during the operational
lifetime of the pottery, 1879 to 1900.
COOK POTTERY COMPANY 19N10W1
A small whiteware fragment was recovered
from the provenience 19N10W level 1 which was
located next to the rear foundation wall of unit
#45. The sherd is from a vessel whose form is
unidentifiable and exhibited no form of
decoration save for the maker's mark transfer
printed on the base. The mark is a circular
pattern with the name of the pottery around the
interior of the circle and a small insignia in the
center (Figure 6-21). This particular mark
belonged to the Cook Pottery Company of
Trenton, New Jersey. The company was
organized in the early part of 1894 succeeding to
the business of Messrs. Ott & Brewer (Barber
1904: 54). The officers of the firm were Charles
Howell Cook, President; F.G. Mellor, Vice-
President and Treasurer, and James J.
Mulheron, Secretary (Barber 1904: 54). Primarily
two marks were printed on their porcelain dinner
ware, one being composed of three feathers and
the other, which is of the type excavated from
behind Boott Mills unit #45, was a circle that
enclosed the combined names of Etruria and
Mellor & Co. (Barber 1904: 54). Once again from
the evidence available, we can only safely say
that this particular vessel was produced
sometime after the organization of the pottery in
the early months of 1894.
INTERNATIONAL POTTERY COMPANY 23N4W1
Provenience 23N4W1 yielded a small
whiteware fragment bearing an identifiable
black transfer printed manufacturer's mark on
the base. The mark was determined to be one
that was used by the International Pottery
Company which operated out of Trenton, New
Jersey. The firm was established in 1860 by
Henry Speeler and began later in 1868 to
operate under the name of Henry Speeler &
Sons (Barber 1904: 58-59). In 1879, Edward Clark
and James Carr purchased the Speeler pottery
works and organized the Lincoln Pottery
Company. The manufacturer's mark adopted
Ceramic Analysis 115
by this company was a mark with the name of
the firm and the names Carr & Clark printed
beneath. After a few months of operation, when
the company was reorganized by the
International Pottery Company, the mark was
continued with the exception of the successor's
names, Burgess and Campbell, were substituted
(Barber 1904: 58-59). In fact, after the
reorganization, a variety of marks began to
appear. For semi-porcelainwares, particularly
on certain patterns of underglazed ware, a
circular stamp was impressed while the mark
"INTERNATIONAL CHINA" was frequently used
on the same grade of ware. On semi-porcelain
tablewares with blue decorations under the
glaze, the "ROYAL BLUE" marks were printed in
the same color. Likewise, a similar mark was
used on toilet and dinnerware of the
"BALMORAL" pattern. Other pattern marks that
were printed on toilet and tablewares were
"ALBANY," "JAPONICA," "LOTUS," and
"DIAMOND" (Barber 1904: 58-59). After Mr.
Campbell left from the company, the style of the
mark was changed to simply "BURGESS & CO."
The mark that was displayed on "Royal China"
in 1903 was of a crown in a circle which
corresponds with the mark recovered in
Operation B behind unit #45 (Figure 6-22). A
later period manufacturer's mark used by the
International Pottery Co., mostly on their
semivitreous porcelain, was the Maltese cross.
Therefore, it can be inferred that the fragment
represented in the Lowell collection was
produced sometime after 1903
TAYLOR SMITH & TAYLOR COMPANY 23N4W1
A light green maker's mark was identified on a
small whiteware vessel fragment that was
recovered from the provenience 23N4W level 1.
The mark belonged to the Taylor, Smith & Taylor
Company of East Liverpool, Ohio. The original
company of Taylor, Lee & Smith was
incorporated in 1899 and was the predecessor of
the present Taylor, Smith & Taylor which
assumed operations on October 1, 1901 (Barber
1904: 116). The primary product manufactured
by the pottery was semivitreous porcelain.
Subjoined are the marks of the original company
for semi-porcelain and white granite. The marks
used by the present company were shown for the
same types of wares (Barber 1904: 116). The
mark visible on the ceramic sherd recovered
from the rear of unit #45 consists of a winged lion
[griffin] below which are three circles that
contain the letters "T.S.T" under which are
printed the names "TAYLOR, SMITH & TAYLOR"
(Figure 6-23). Because the mark is from the
Taylor, Smith & Taylor Co., we know that the
vessel was manufactured sometime after 1901.
GOODWIN POTTERY COMPANY 23N6W1
A black transfer printed manufacturer's mark
was excavated from the provenience 23N6W
level 1 in the vicinity of a brick drain box located
behind boardinghouse unit #45. The mark,
which is on a piece of whiteware, belonged to the
Goodwin Pottery Company of East Liverpool,
Ohio. John Goodwin established the pottery in
1844 primarily for the production of yellow and
Rockingham wares (Barber 1904: 105-106). In
1876, after the death of Mr. Goodwin, his sons
took over and in 1893 the Goodwin Pottery
Company was incorporated. Their products
consisted of pearl, white, cream-colored,
decorated wares, semi-porcelain and ironstone
china or white granite (Barber 1904: 105-106).
The particular mark represented from
Operation B excavations at Lowell consists of a
printed coat-of-arms under which is a banner
that says "IRON STONE CHINA." Below this
banner is a date, "1844" which is an excellent
example of a printed date on a mark indicating
when the particular company was established
(Collard 1984: 324). Finally, beneath the
founding date is printed in block letters:
"GOODWIN'S" (Figure 6-24).
WEST END POTTERY COMPANY 19N6W1
A large undecorated serving platter was
recovered archeologically from the provenience
19N6W level 1 and crossmended with fragments
from the same vessel retrieved from excavation
unit 23N4W level 1, all from Operation B. On
the bottom of the platter is a simple maker's
mark in black transfer print that reads
"W.E.P.CO." with the word "CHINA" printed in
block letters beneath (Figure 6-25). This
particular mark was used by the West End
Pottery Company of East Liverpool, Ohio. The
company was organized in 1893 having
succeeded Messrs. Burgess & Co. (Barber 1904:
117). The primary products of the pottery were
ironstone china and fine decorated ware.
Unfortunately, with the limited amount of data
available on this particular mark, little more can
be said, at this point, other than that the serving
platter retrieved from behind unit #45 was
produced sometime after 1893.
1 16 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
I
I
Figure 6-25. West End Pottery Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1893). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.)
m
Figure 6-26. Potter's Co-operative Company, East Liverpool, Ohio (post-1876). (Photograph by Richard
S. Kanaski.)
Ceramic Analysis 117
POTTER'S CO-OPERATIVE COMPANY TRENCH #2
LEVEL 9D
A medium-size serving platter fragment was
uncovered during test trench excavations in 1984
and retrieved from test trench #2 level 9D which
was later incorporated into Operation B
excavations of the Boott Mills boardinghouse
unit #45. The manufacturer's mark is transfer
printed in a light reddish brown color displaying
a globe with an unidentifiable word printed in
the middle and the name of the pottery printed
above (Figure 6-26). This particular mark was
used by the Dresden works which belonged to
the Potter's Co-operative Company of East
Liverpool, Ohio. The pottery has been in
existence since 1876 when it was established by
Messrs. Burnt, Bloor, Martin & Co. (Barber 1904:
111). The primary products produced by the
Dresden works were white granite, decorated
table and toilet wares, and vitreous and hotel
china (Barber 1904: 111). At this point with the
paucity of information available on this
particular mark, we are unable to say any more
other than that the vessel was manufactured
sometime after the founding of the pottery in
1876.
IRIS PATTERN MARK TRENCH #4 LEVEL 3
Preliminary testing uncovered in trench #4
level 3 the fragments of a small plate on the base
of which is visible a partial pattern mark. The
light olive green transfer printed mark is slightly
off-center of the base and near the footring.The
name of the pattern, "IRIS," is complete and is
surrounded by a floral wreath. Underneath the
pattern name are printed letters of which,
unfortunately, only the tops are visible, thus,
providing no more information regarding the
origin of the pattern. The interior of the
remaining vessel is undecorated indicating that
the decoration was around the rim of the plate.
Because the pattern could not be positively
identified, a date of manufacture is at this point
uncertain.
Summary and Discussion of Maker's
Marks
Dating
A mean date of manufacture was calculated
for the identifiable maker's marks by averaging
the dates assigned for the production of the
particular mark. For those symbols where a date
range was given, an average was taken to
determine the mean date of production. This
date was then incorporated into the calculations
for the overall mean manufacture date for the
marks identified from the backlots of units #45
and #48. The results of these calculations
conclude that for Operation A backmarks the
mean manufacture date for the ceramic vessels
manufactured in England is 1868.5, for domestic
manufactured wares 1885.5, and for all of the
marks recovered from Operation A, 1877. For
Operation B the mean manufacture date of
English made wares is 1872, while the domestic
produced wares is 1893, and the overall mean for
Operation B marks is 1889.7.
The discrepancy between the mean
manufacture dates for the English made
ceramics and the American produced wares can
best be attributed to the development of the
American ceramic industry during the 19th
century. From the late 1700s until approximately
1880, the world ceramic market was dominated
by the British (Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 114;
Miller 1980: 1-2). Beginning around 1850 until
about 1880, British potters began to increase
their production of "classic ironstone" for export
to the American market (Majewski and O'Brien
1987: 114). It was during this time period that
English firms, particularly the Staffordshire
potteries, began to feel pressures from French
ceramic manufacturers who began exporting
large quantities of inexpensive hard, white
porcelain to Canada and the United States
(Wetherbee 1985: 15). As a result, the British
ceramic industry began producing imitations of
the French grey-white ware and once again
assured its control of the American market
which eagerly seized upon the white
earthenwares that were characterized as being
sharply, detailed potted vessels, and displaying
gleaming glazes (Wetherbee 1985: 15). After
about 1880, there was a shift in English ceramic
production from the "classic ironstone" (heavy,
semivitreous ceramics that were frequently
either decorated with relief molding, or left
plain) to a lighter weight ironstone ware
(Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 114). These lighter
wares, however, were never completely accepted
as a table service by the British, and thus, the
heavy vitreous and semivitreous wares
continued to be produced long after the decline
of the "classic ironstone" ware and were
manufactured for both export and use in
England (Wetherbee 1985: 179; Majewski and
O'Brien 1987: 114).
It was not, however, until after the Civil War
that American pottery manufacturers began
seriously to compete with the British ceramic
industry. Only at the end of the 19th century do
American potters begin to establish themselves
as a viable competitor in the eyes of the
118 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
American consumer (Majewski and O'Brien
1987: 115).
In the 1860s, small amounts of semivitreous
ware was being produced in New Jersey. This
trend steadily increased until the 1890s by which
time American ceramic manufacturers had a
sizable command of the U.S. market (Majewski
and O'Brien 1987: 115). This sudden and rapid
growth in the production of semivitreous ware in
America was seen as a result, or outgrowth of,
the "white granite" industry that developed in
the East Liverpool pottery district of Ohio around
1890 (Majewski and O'Brien 1987: 115). The
American produced "white granite" was a
nonvitreous to semivitreous ware that was an
answer to the British production of "classic
ironstone," and like the "classic ironstone," was
a heavy, semivitreous ware decorated with relief
molding, or left plain. This ware was the
predominant type of dinnerware used in the
average American home until the 1940s
(Newcomb 1947: 223; Majewski and O'Brien
1987: 115).
OPERATION A
Backmarks excavated during Operation A
from the backlot of unit #48 produced a mean
manufacture date for European made ceramics
of 1868.5. The mean date for the marks on
domestic wares of Operation A, as was
mentioned earlier, is 1885.5. The differences
between these two dates should be viewed as a
result of the types of wares available at the time
of purchase. These dates are entirely consistent,
with the exception of the Sampson, Bridgewood
& Son (Ltd) vessel that was produced between
1885 and 1891, with the development of the
American pottery industry in the 1880s and 1890s
and likewise, with the decline of British influence
in the American ceramic market. The
manufacturer's marks that were recovered from
the backlot of unit #48 suggest that prior to the
1880s the residents of the tenement purchased
English refined earthenwares for use as
tableware. After the American ceramic industry
had established itself as a serious competitor in
the ceramic market in the 1880s, residents then
opted for the purchase of domestic
manufactured wares.
The presence of the Sampson, Bridgewood
&Son (Ltd) vessel, which was identified as a
small bowl, with a relatively late date of
manufacture, indicates that the occupants of the
tenement continued to purchase limited
amounts of English manufactured ceramics,
possibly for special function items such as tea
ware or display pieces.
The general shift that is evident in the
Operation A data suggests an effort of
economizing, as far as the purchase of everyday
tableware was concerned, as ceramics
manufactured in the United States would have
been considerably less expensive, because of
the decrease in the costs of shipping and
handling, as well as being more readily available.
The mean date of production for all of the
maker's marks recovered during Operation A
excavations is 1877. This date represents the
mean of the earliest possible dates of
manufacture for the marks under study. As 1877
falls right after the beginning of the assertion of
influence by the American ceramic industry, the
data is then consistent as the appearance of an
equal number of European and domestic
manufactured ceramics indicates. What we are
seeing represented is a period of transition
where there is a shift being made towards the
purchase of American wares, but at the same
time, remaining somewhat loyal to the ever
present British ceramic industries, particularly
for certain vessels of certain forms and
functions.
OPERATION B
Operation B yielded 13 identifiable
manufacturer's marks. Of these 13 marks, two
were from European potteries while the
remaining 11 were produced by firms in the
United States. The mean date of manufacture
for the European made wares is 1872. Both of
the vessels represented in Operation B were
manufactured at the Staffordshire potteries in
England and once again, as in Operation A,
represent ceramic purchases made at the end of
the period of British domination in the ceramic
market.
The 11 domestic marks retrieved from the
backlot of unit #45 have a calculated mean
manufacture date of 1893. The large sample size
and the late mean production date indicate that
the bulk of the purchases for ceramic vessels
were made after the 1880s; well into the time
period when American potteries began to
dominate the ceramic market in the United
States. The preponderance of domestic
manufactured wares points to efforts of
economizing at the boardinghouse through the
purchase of ceramic items. The American wares
had increased availability, and thus, would have
been much easier to replace with like or similar
vessels, as well as being cheaper, because of the
reduction in transportation costs.
The mean date of manufacture for all of the
identifiable backmarks recovered during
Ceramic Analysis 119
Operation B excavations is 1889.7. Unlike
Operation A, the Operation B mean
manufacture date points to a period of purchase
for ceramic vessels that is well into the period
when American potters began to control the
ceramic market. The two marks that were of
European manufacture are more than likely
from vessels that had an extended use life or
were possibly curated as pieces that were given a
special function or status. Archeologically, the
marks indicate that excavations of the backlot of
unit #45 were focusing on boardinghouse life
from the last two decades of the 19th century on
into the first decade of the 20th century. During
this period it is clear that domestically
manufactured ceramics were preferred over
European wares, once again, most likely in an
effort to reduce operating costs of the
boardinghouse as American wares would have
exhibited a reduced price in addition to an
increased availability.
Conclusions
The conclusions drawn from the results of the
hypotheses generated for testing the variables
quantity, quality, and variety demonstrate that in
the mill community, level of class membership
and family composition only affect the quantity
of ceramics per individual purchased by a
household. The variables quality and variety
when tested, produced insignificant results.
Perhaps the small number of observed
differences in the tests conducted for the
variable variety are a result of the more equal
access to food items in an urban setting for all
classes. Likewise, the introduction of mass
produced ceramic tableware in the late 19th
century made a wide range of ceramic types and
forms accessible to all socioeconomic classes.
In both assemblages there appeared to be no
successful attempt to purchase ceramics in sets.
Advertisements from 19th-century newspapers
illustrate that businesses in Lowell were aware of
the financial constraints placed upon
boardinghouse keepers and were willing to
accommodate them in their efforts to
economize. The data similarly suggest that the
tenement residents were faced with the same
welter of financial constraints and responded to
the need for economizing in much the same
manner as the boardinghouse keepers.
The presence of more expensive tea- and
coffeeware in the tenement assemblage
indicates that these vessel forms served in a
more status related function than the tea- and
coffeeware from the boardinghouse. Tenement
residents were often skilled workers or
immigrants and, as a result of their housing
situation, were afforded more opportunity for
self expression through their ceramic purchases.
Immigrants, responding to the call for cheap
labor, frequently entered American society at
the bottom of the social hierarchy. Therefore, in
an effort to escape the social stigma and
economic consequences of lower class life,
immigrants frequently assimilated. The
retention of ethnic traditions often resulted in
the preservation of class differences associated
with immigrant status (Steinberg 1981). The
purchase and display of expensive tea- and
coffeeware was one attempt made by the
tenement residents to assimilate and to display
middle class values.
Aside from tea- and coffeeware, the two
ceramic assemblages were remarkably similar.
Undecorated whitewares dominated both
collections with smaller percentages of transfer
printed and handpainted ware. The increased
availability of ceramic tableware types and
forms in the late 19th century lessens the
number of observed differences between
ceramic assemblages of households with similar
financial means.
Analysis of the manufacturer's marks
demonstrates that both the tenement and
boardinghouse residents opted for the purchase
of domestically produced ceramics after the
American ceramic industry had established
itself as a serious competitor in the world
ceramic market in the 1880s. By acquiring
domestic ceramic wares, residents of both the
tenement and boardinghouse tried to
economize, as these wares would have been less
expensive because of reduced transportation
costs and increased availability.
The majority of the American manufactured
wares purchased by the boardinghouse and
tenement residents were from the East
Liverpool, Ohio, pottery district with lesser
quantities coming from West Virginia, New
Jersey, and England. The East Liverpool
potteries dominated the American ceramic
market after the 1880s, and the preponderance
of wares from this region is not surprising.
The ceramic assemblages recovered from the
boardinghouse and tenement backlots at Lowell
reflect two late 19th century working class
households operating under different household
structures but within similar economic
constraints. Ceramic purchasing patterns reflect
attempts at economizing for both assemblages
in addition to providing the necessary forms for
food service and consumption. The tenement
residents sought to emulate middle-class dining
habits by including more vessels in a table
120 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
setting per person even though these were
unspecialized in function. This suggests that for
the tenement, vessel function was more fluid
with particular forms serving in various
capacities other than their intended use. The
boardinghouse, on the other hand, provided only
the basics for food service and consumption.
Complete meals were served to individuals on a
single plate with little or no accessories such as
vegetable dishes, bread plates, and salad plates.
In this way the tenement household attempted
to follow main stream middle-class dining rituals
by adapting their limited ceramic assemblage to
reproduce as close as possible a middle-class
table service while the boardinghouse, only
concerned with the service of food, neglected
such refinements in vessel function.
Life for the mill labor force was one
characterized by limited financial resources.
Even though options available in corporate
housing offered some residents more
purchasing freedom, it appears that similar
economic restraints acted as a more powerful
determinant, cutting across class rank, in the
purchase of ceramic wares. Household make-
up (nuclear family vs. corporate boardinghouse),
however, altered the views of vessel function
within the tenement and boardinghouse
ceramic assemblages. The use of tea- and
coffeewares as status display items by the
tenement residents, an option not available to
the boardinghouse occupants, and the use of
single vessels in several functional capacities are
differences that separate the lifestyles of
individuals and families living in corporate
housing at the Boott Mills in Lowell.
Chapter 7
THE MEDICINE, ALCOHOL, AND SODA VESSELS FROM THE
BOOTT MILLS BOARDINGHOUSES
by Kathleen H. Bond
Introduction
A portion of the vessel glass — medicine,
alcohol, and soda bottles and jars — recovered
from the Boott boardinghouse backlots is
discussed below. These three categories of glass
were separated from other types of container
glass (e.g., food, milk, and condiment bottles and
jars) and analyzed as a discrete unit. The
decision to divide the glass vessels arose from
the sheer quantity of glass artifacts (over 14,000
fragments of vessel glass were present). The
medicine, alcohol, and soda glass were grouped
together, as they are products often associated
with leisure behavior, whereas food and milk
containers are generally purchased in
conjunction with food preparation and
consumption activities. The split in the analysis
is, however, somewhat arbitrary, as some of the
vessels associated with leisure behavior were no
doubt used at mealtime and vice versa.
The medicine, alcohol, and soda vessels
recovered from the Boott Mills boardinghouse
site were analyzed within the framework
delineated in the project's research design. One
of the research objectives posed in the design
was to delineate patterns of consumer behavior
among the residents of the housing. This focus
was guided, however, by the knowledge that life
in the residences reflected a "corporate pattern
of consumption and lifestyle" (Beaudry and
Mrozowski 1987: 6). That is, consumer choices
were made not only on the basis of personal
choice and cost of goods, but they were also
influenced by a corporate policy that touched
virtually all aspects of an individual's life. One of
the ways that the policy affected workers'
behavior was that these individuals had little, if
any, say in the acquisition of most items used on
a daily basis; the household wares and
furnishings in the boardinghouses were
purchased by the keepers of each unit,
individuals who exercised enormous control over
the domestic environment. Products associated
with leisure behavior, such as drink and tobacco,
as well as personal effects, were the exception to
the norm; they were purchased directly by the
workers. The medicine and beverages that
workers consumed and discarded reflect, then,
some of the more personal choices made by the
Boott workers. Even these choices, however,
were influenced by the corporate system of
policies and regulations. The focus of the
analysis of the medicine and beverage vessels
recovered from the Boott examines the workers'
choices in light of the corporate way of life.
Within the discussion, an overview of the
number, manufacture dates, and deposition of
the medicine, alcohol, and soda vessels is
presented first. This is followed by a description
of techniques used in the manufacture of 19th-
and 20th-century bottle glass, particularly those
that were first introduced during the latter part
of the 1800s. Following the description of
manufacture, the vessel? in the assemblages
from each functional category are discussed.
The artifacts from Operation A (the tenement)
and B (the boardinghouse) are discussed
separately. An interpretation of the assemblage
is presented last.
Minimum Number of Vessels
Minimum number of vessel (MNV) was
calculated using two approaches. Whole bases,
base fragments that were at least 50% complete,
and base fragments that were unique in the
assemblage were assigned an MNV of one. In
certain instances, however, there was a lesser
number of bases to finishes within a vessel type.
Finishes that exceeded the number of bases in a
particular type and unique finishes were also
assigned an MNV of one. In a few cases, body
fragments did not correspond in color or
manufacturing technique to any base or finish in
the assemblage and were also included in the
vessel count.
A total of 14,271 glass vessel fragments were
recovered from the two operations: 5426
fragments came from Operation A and 8845
from Operation B. Of the 169 total vessels, 84
were medicinal, 72 were alcohol, and 13 were
soda. Sixty vessels came from the tenement and
almost twice as many, 109, from the
boardinghouse. Table 7-1 and Table 7-2 break
the MNV up according to the two operations.
Two of the functional categories were further
subdivided; alcoholic beverages were separated
121
122 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
into liquor, beer, and wine vessels, and medicine
into proprietary and toiletry vessels.
Table 7-1. Minimum Vessel Count, Operation A.
Type
Medicinal
# %
Proprietary
Toiletry
29 48.3
1 1.7
Subtotal
30 50.0
Alcohol
Liquor
Wine
18 30.0
2 3.3
Beer
4 6.6
Subtotal
24 39.9
Soda
6 10.0
Totals
60 100.0
between the tenement bulkhead and the
woodshed.
Twenty-seven vessels (25%) were recovered
from features in Operation B. Of the features
sampled or excavated, the privy (Feature 61) and
the well (Feature 2) contained the largest
deposits. Feature 65, a pit or planting hole, also
yielded a fair number of glass fragments.
Eighty-two vessels (75%) were recovered from
yard scatter in the boardinghouse backlot.
Although glass littered the backyard, the
heaviest concentrations were in two areas:
between the back wall of the boardinghouse and
the unexcavated area near the modern-day
lamp post; and between the ell of unit #45 and
the woodshed.
Deposition of Medicinal, Alcohol, and Soda
Vessels
Of the vessels recovered, 31 (52%) were from
features in Operation A. Four features
contained the greatest quantity of glass,
including the privy (Feature 45), the well
(Feature 43), and the tenement bulkhead
(Feature 23). The fourth feature, Feature 46, a
shallow pit along the inside edge of the
woodshed foundation, near the privy, was
designated a bottle dump or cache because it
contained almost nothing but liquor and
medicine bottle glass. A minimum of 5 mold-
made liquor and medicine bottles had been
broken into many fragments, but at least 4 had
been deposited unbroken, as they still lay in
their original shapes (Figure 7-1).
Table 7-2. Minimum Vessel Count,
Operation B.
Type
Medicinal
#
%
Proprietary
Toiletry
Subtotal
49
5
54
45.0
4.5
49.5
Alcohol
Liquor
Wine
36
7
32.7
6.4
Beer
5
4.5
Subtotal
48
43.6
Soda
7
6.4
Totals
109
100.0
Twenty-nine (48%) of the vessels from the
tenement came from yard scatter. The most
concentrated areas of scatter were within the
limits of the tenement ell and in an area running
Dating of Assemblage
Of the 165 datable vessels in the MNV for
both operations, 8 (5%) were mold- or free-blown
prior to 1880. One-hundred-six (64%) were mold-
blown between 1880 and 1920, and 41 (24%) were
machine-made after 1904. Another 14 (9%) could
be dated no more closely than to after 1860.
These four broad time periods have been used
only as "ballpark" dates, and are based on major
developments in 19th- and 20th century bottle
manufacture; within each period, some of the
glass could be more tightly dated.
Manufacture
Bottle Glass
of 19th- and 20th-century
The medicinal, alcohol, and soda vessels were
first examined for evidence of mold or machine
manufacture. If a vessel was mold-blown, it was
studied for evidence of empontilling or use of a
snap case. It was also examined for evidence of
use of a finishing tool. For descriptions of the
various molds and the processes involved with
snap cases and finishing tools, refer to Jones and
Sullivan 1985 as well as Toulouse 1969a and
1969b.
As the majority of glass dated after 1880, the
following six manufacturing techniques were
common in the assemblage. The techniques are
described below in chronological order.
Plate Molds
Bottles had been embossed since the 18th
century (Noel Hume 1969: 74), but plate molds
were used by the 1860s. The plates were inserted
into the mold, which "enabled the glassmaker to
blow personalized bottles for a buyer whose
needs were too small to justify the expense of a
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 123
*K A.
Figure 7-1. Feature 46, a bottle dump just outside the tenement privy. Camera faces
cast. (Photograph by Paul Giblin.)
124 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
complete mold" (Toulouse 1969b: 584). One
body mold could then serve many customers.
After about 1890, the terms "Warranted,"
"Registered," and "Guaranteed" were often
embossed on liquor bottles to assure the
customer that he or she was getting a true
measure; these terms remained in use until
Prohibition (Peterson 1968: 45; Bernard
Puckhaber, personal communication, 1987).
converted to either semi-automatic or automatic
machinery (Miller and Sullivan 1984: 89). Unless
otherwise noted, 1920 has been designated a cut-
off date for the mold-made vessels in the
assemblage. Seams on machine-made
containers generally run from the heel to the top
of the lip, horizontally around the finish. A
feathery scar on the base, known as an Owen's
suction scar, can be found on some machine-
made containers.
Turn Mold
From 1880 to about 1910, many wine bottles, as
well as some other types of bottles, were turn
molded. This technique erased the mold seams
but left horizontal markings on the bottle
(Toulouse 1969a: 532).
Vent Mold
A process used only on mold-made bottles,
small holes were drilled into the shoulders or
base of the bottle. This permitted pressure to be
released and ensured a more perfect form
(Jones and Sullivan 1985: 47). While the
technique dates from about 1875, it was not used
on whiskey bottles until 1892 (Cheney 1982: n.p.).
Decolorized Glass
After 1880, by which date manufacturers
perfected the technique of decolorizing glass
with manganese, colorless glass was widely used
in packaging (Munsey 1970: 55). Prior to that
time, colorless glass had been used, but, more
often, American bottles were made of natural
colors such as aqua, green, or amber (McKearin
and McKearin 1941: 7, cited in Baugher-Perlin
1982: 261).
Crown Cap
The crown cap, the common closure for beer
and soda bottles, still in use today, was invented
in 1892 (Lief 1965: 17).
Machine Manufacture
A limited amount of semi-automatic
production of glass containers was achieved by
1900, but fully automatic manufacturing dates
from 1904 for wide-mouth containers and 1908-
1910 for narrow-mouth bottles (Miller and
Sullivan 1984: 85; John Cheney, personal
communication, 1988). It was only by 1920,
however, that 90% of the glass houses had
Vessels Discussed By Functional Type
The assemblage is subdivided according to
operation. Within each subdivision, an overview
of the numbers of vessels, their colors, and
manufacture dates is provided. Embossed
vessels, whole vessels, and those of relatively
early manufacture are discussed in more detail.
If a vessel's provenience is not identified, it can
be assumed that it is yard scatter. When
complete bottles or bases are described,
measurements in centimeters are provided.
Medicinal (Proprietary)
Operation A
Twenty-nine proprietary medicine vessels
were recovered from the tenement. There were
bases and finishes to 25 separate vessels. Body
fragments to three vessels and one whole bottle
were also recovered. One vessel was restorable.
Nineteen of the vessels were colorless, five were
aqua or light green., and the rest were cobalt
blue, or amber. Of the datable vessels, 16 were
mold-made and 11 were machine-made.
There were 15 colorless or aqua rectangular
bases to bottles formed in two-part molds, with
separate base parts. Many had chamfered
edges and recessed panels. All of the bottles
were manufactured after 1860, with most of the
colorless bottles made after 1880. The bases
measured 2.5 cm on the short side and from 4
cm-5 cm on the long side. One bottle, recovered
from Feature 46, the bottle dump, had been
manufactured by Campbell Glass Works in
Berkeley, California. The heel was embossed "C.
G. W.," a mark used by the firm between 1884
and 1885 (Toulouse 1972: 129). Another colorless
rectangular base, measuring 2 cm x 3 cm, was
embossed "NEID ER MONTAUK." One
base and partial body to a vent-molded bottle
from the bulkhead (Feature 23, level D), had
contained a remedy sold by Dr. John
Chmielnicki, Chemist, of Somerville,
Massachusetts (Figures 7-2, 7-4r). He was listed
in that town's Directory between 1912 and 1915.
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 125
Figure 7-2. Rectangular medicine bottle embossed Dr. Chmiclnicki & Co., Chemists
Somcrville, Massachusetts. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 7-3. Embossed wording on the side of W. F. Scvcra medicine bottle.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
126 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 7-4. Two rectangular medicine bottles. Left, W. F. Scvera medicine. Right, Dr.
Chmielnicki & Co., Chemists. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 7-5 Five empontilled medicine bases. Top left, octagonally-shaped vial, two-part
mold. Top center, bottle, dip molded (ribbed design is not visible). Top right, vial, dip
molded (ribbed design not visible). Bottom left, vial, dip molded or free blown. Bottom
right, Moses Atwood's Jaundice Bitters bottle, dip molded. (Photograph by Richard S
Kanaski.) 6 K 7
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 127
Two light green bases were empontilled and
date no later than 1870 (Figures 7-5 top left, 7-5
top center). The first base, from an octagonally-
shaped medicine or toiletry vial formed in a two-
part mold, was 2 cm wide. The second base,
from a light green dip-molded cylindrical bottle
that contained either medicine or a household
product, measured 5.5 cm. There appears to be
a vertical rib-like design on the body. The base
was recovered from the privy (Feature 45/A) and
crossmends with a fragment recovered near the
boardinghouse well. One colorless round base, 7
cm in diameter, was from a druggist's graduated
cylinder; such items were advertised by 1880 in
Whitall Tatum & Co. druggist's glassware
catalog (1880: 64-65).
There were light blue embossed body
fragments that read "MASS USA." Bottles that
contained medicines sold by the J. C. Ayer Drug
Company of Lowell were similarly embossed
(Wilson 1981: 430). Amber body fragments in
Feature 44 (a dark soil stain by a brick drain box)
were from a bottle that had contained a product
sold by Carleton & Hovey, Lowell druggists.
Both firms were established in the 1840s and
continued in business well into the 1900s. Two
amber-green body fragments were embossed
with part of a log cabin and tree, typical motifs
for bitters-type medicines. Bitters were
manufactured most widely between 1860 and
1920 (Munsey 1970: 112).
The cellar (Feature 25/D) yielded one round
cobalt blue base that measured 2.5. cm, with a
maker's mark of two dots inside a square. It
mended to body fragments (found in level E) on
which part of the wording "BROMO SELTZER
EMERSON DRUG CO. BALTIMORE" could be
read. The bottle dates from 1889, when the
medicine was first made, to 1915 (Toulouse 1971:
339).
One whole proprietary medicine bottle was
recovered from the cellar fill (Feature 25/D). It
had contained W. F. Severa's Stomach Bitters,
manufactured in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. (Figures
7-3, 7-4 left). The bottle was machine-made
between 1916 and 1929 and measured 2.5 cm x 4
cm x 13 cm. As of 1909 the medicine contained
25% alcohol, and the remedy was advertised as
"a valuable laxative, tonic, invigorant, and
recuperant" (Fike 1987: 180). It was particularly
recommended for "old and delicate people." A
bottle known as a French Square (Whitall Tatum
1880: 13) that measured 6 cm x 16 cm could be
partially restored (Figure 7-6). Although first on
the market in the 1860s (Lorrain 1968: 44), the
smoothly made finish would suggest a somewhat
later manufacture date. It was recovered from
Feature 46, the bottle dump.
Figure 7-6: French Square medicine bottle.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
128 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 7-7 Two toiletry and ointment jars. Left, milk glass screw-top toiletry or
medicine jar. Right, screw-top Vaseline ointment jar. (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.)
Figure 7-8 Three medicine bottles. Left, light green Kemp's Balsam. Center,
unembossed bottle, with inset front. Right, unembossed vial. (Photograph by Richard
S. Kanaski.)
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 129
Figure 7-9. Three pint liquor flasks. Left, flask embossed "One Pint." Center, flask
embossed "Guaranteed Full Pint." Right, H. Swartz & Co. flask. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
230 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
In addition to the medicinal bottles and
jars,the tenement backlot yielded one yellow
glass medicine dropper.
Jo.. LBBLA1TC,
W. I. Goods, Groceries, Flour, Provisions and Produce.
ALSO DEALER IN WOOD A1»D COAL.
W to 71 P»rtd—n ltrM(, for. WtUl ItrMt. - - - Lo<r«ll. Mb..
Boston Branch Grocery and Tea Store.
iclqli aid ma km £ fin out mods, flock, um mi in
.'Al.KD I.. SMITH, !•,„,.,!.,„,.
465 Middlesex Street, opp. Northern Depot, L-woll.
PATRICK TEAGUE,
FAMILV TRADE A SPECIALTY.
, S2S MERRIMACK STREET, LOWELL
S PETER ^(ATSOII 5 SOU,
JBHKERS.
RETAIL GROCERS.
; A fall line of Fanrjt Cracker* ana"
Cakm of all Mada.
94 to 60 Claries St. and 487 Lawrence Si.
JAMES CALN1N,
BHUWUR'* AOHJIfT
Carbonated Beverages
BUTTLED ALE AMI I'UHTKK.
Al.su BEST (ill IDES LAtiEB.
101 to 107 Lake View Av . Lowell
L. P. TURCOTTE,
WHOLESALE nun RETAIL.
J 41 to 147 Worthen Street.
P. DEMPSEY & CO.
LIQUORS
Bulk Goods, Bottle Goods, Straight Goods, Blonded Goods.
Rectified Goods, In Large Variety.
FISHER RYE, THE FINEST HIGH BALL WHISKEY IN AMERICA.
383 MARKET ST.
LOWELL, MASS.
Figure 7-10. Advertisements in 1900 Lowell City
Directory for P. Dempsey & Co. and James
Calnin, as well as other Lowell liquor dealers.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Operation B
Of the 49 total medicine containers, 45 were
represented by bases and finishes and one by
body fragments. There were two whole vessels
and one nearly whole. One bottle was restorable.
Thirty-three vessels were colorless, 10 were aqua
or light green, and 6 were amber, cobalt blue, or
opaque milk glass. Of the datable containers, 36
were mold-made and 9 were machine-made.
Three of the 49 vessels held either medicines or
toiletries.
Of the 43 colorless or aqua vessels, rectangular
bottles predominated, identical in size and
design to those in Operation A. Three aqua
medicine or toiletry bases, however, bore pontil
scars (Figures 7-5 top rt, 7-5 bottom left, 7-5
bottom rt). One round base was manufactured
in a dip mold, with a vertical rib design, and
measured 2 cm. A second round base was either
free blown or dip molded and measured 1.5 cm
in diameter. Both bases were likely made by
1870. An octagonal base was dip molded, and
embossed body fragments from the same bottle
provide evidence that it contained Moses
Atwood's Jaundice Bitters, manufactured in
Georgetown, Massachusetts. The firm was
established in 1840, and the bottle dates to no
later than 1865 (Fike 1987: 31). It measured 4 cm
in diameter. One heat-altered round base was
part of a druggist's graduated cylinder.
Finishes from two small, cylindrical medicinal
vials (bore diameter of approximately 2 cm), one
aqua and one light green, were manipulated
without the use of a finishing tool. The aqua
finish, which appears to be from the same bottle
as the smallest empontilled base, consisted of a
folded-out lip. The light green finish consisted of
a cracked-off lip and an untooled string rim. It
was manufactured no later than about 1860.
One aqua body fragment, probably to the
same bottle as one of the aqua bases or finishes,
was embossed "DR. KILMER'S." It contained
one of 18 herbal remedies manufactured by
Andral Kilmer (the most famous of which was his
Swamp Root), of Binghamton, New York, from
the 1870s to 1925 (Fike 1987: 101). One embossed
colorless fragment was from a Moxie Nerve
Food bottle, a concoction first made in Lowell in
1885 (Fike 1987: 173).
Three dark amber body fragments from one
paneled bottle were embossed "ATHE," "PINT,"
and "S." The bottle had contained Father John's
Medicine, sold by the Carleton & Hovey drug
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 131
store in Lowell. First manufactured in the 1850s,
the remedy was sold well into the 20th century
(Fike 1987: 146). There was also a partial base
and body to a small amber screw-top jar. It was 4
cm tall and contained either medicine or a
toiletry.
There was one milk glass prescription finish,
and one milk glass base that was embossed "[W]
T & CO [PA]T 1892." The cylindrical bottle, 3 cm
wide, was made by Whitall, Tatum & Co after
1892 and probably before 1912 (Toulouse 1971:
544). It contained either medicine or a toiletry.
Of the two whole medicine vessels in
Operation B, one was a molded, screw-top, milk
glass medicine or toiletry jar (Figure 7-7, left). It
was recovered from the privy (Feature 61 /A) and
measured 5 cm x 6.5 cm. Level B of the well
(T2/9b) yielded a cylindrical medicine vial
(Figure 7-8r). It measured 1.5 cm x 5.5 cm, and,
as there were no mold seams or evidence of turn
molding, the vial was probably dip molded.
Although dip molding was most common prior
to the mid-19th century, the vial's smooth finish
suggests a somewhat later manufacture.
A small milk-bottle-shaped vial was nearly
whole (Figure 7-8 ctr), and a light green Kemp's
Balsam bottle was restorable (Figure 7-8, left).
The vial measured 2 cm x 7 cm and was made
after 1880. The bottom half of one side was inset
for a paper label. The Kemp's Balsam
recovered from Feature 65/B, a pit or planting
hole, measured 1.5 cm x 3 cm x 7 cm. The bottle
was mold-made in LeRoy, New York, between
1900 and 1911, and the preparation claimed to be
a cure for "coughs and colds and sore throats"
(Fike 1987: 25).
In addition to the medicinal bottles and jars
from the boardinghouse, there were three
colorless medicine droppers. Also recovered
was a narrow, colorless, solid glass rod, 2 cm long,
that fit tightly into a circular glass bead. The rod
and bead appear to have been part of a syringe
handle, very similar to several illustrated in the
1880 Whitall Tatum & Co. catalog (1880: 59).
Toiletry
Operation A
The tenement yielded one milk glass partial
base and body from a toiletry vessel. The square
or rectangular bottle was recovered from
Feature 44, a dark soil stain connected to a drain
box. It was embossed on at least one side with a
scroll-like design and contained either perfume
or a toiletry. Milk glass was most widely used for
container glass beginning in the late 1800s
(Jones and Sullivan 1985: 14).
Operation B
Bases and bodies from three whole toiletry
vessels were recovered from the boardinghouse
backlot. One whole vessel and one almost whole
vessel were recovered. Of the datable vessels,
two were machine-made and two were mold-
made.
There was a partial base and body from a grey-
white, opalescent bottle that had similar
attributes to known cologne bottle types
(McKearin and McKearin 1941: 454, pi. 244). The
round base was footed, measured approximately
4.5 cm, and there was a molded ribbed design on
the vessel's base and lower body. It was made
between about 1850 and 1900. There were also
screw-thread rims and bodies from one opaque
green jar and one machine-made, opaque blue
jar that had probably contained a toiletry or
cosmetic.
The tenement yielded one screw-top Vaseline
ointment jar (Figure 7-7r). It was machine-
manufactured after 1908 (Fike 1987. 56) and
measured 4 cm x 6.5 cm. One other small,
colorless, mold-made vessel that had held
perfume or cologne was complete except for the
neck and finish. It had a square base that
measured 2.5 cm. The body was 4 cm tall, with
rounded shoulders.
Alcohol (Liquor)
Operation A
There were 18 liquor bottles recovered from
the tenement. Three were whole flasks and 15
were represented by bases and finishes. One
flask was restorable. There was one amber
bottle, and the rest were made of colorless glass.
No pictoral flasks, bottle types widely used
during the early to mid-19th century, were
recovered. Thirteen were pint or half-pint oval or
rectangular flasks, and two were cylindrical
fifths. Nine of the bottles were mold made after
1880 and nine were machine-made after 1910.
Six rectangular bases to the liquor flasks could
be accurately measured; four were 4.5 cm x 7.5
cm, and two were 4 cm x 6.5 cm. Three round
bases that measured 2.5 cm in diameter may
have come from miniature whiskies, although
the bottles could have contained a food product.
Three of the molded vessels (and proably others)
were made after 1892, as they were
"Guaranteed" and /or vent molded.
Three whole, pint liquor flasks were recovered
from level B of the tenement privy (Feature 45).
All were machine-made and date between 1910
and 1920 (Figures 7-91, 7-9 ctr, 7-9r). Two of the
132 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 7-11. Partial Rickett's "wine" base. Base from yard scatter. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
/
f;\x -jV -it.. VivA;--" /■V-:V:" .
» **>-■* i ..;c.\&i : ' V ••''•••'... '."■ " • ■
I 0$M
SCALE 1:1
Figure 7-12. Detail of embossing on Rickett's "wine" base. (Drawing by Leslie A.
Mead.)
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 133
flasks measured 4.5 cm x 7.5 cm x 21 cm. One
was embossed "ONE PINT" and the other
"GUARANTEED 16 OZ. FULL PINT." The third
flask was embossed "H. SWARTZ & Co.
LEVERETT ST. BOSTON MASS," and "FULL
PINT." It measured 4.5 cm x 7.5 cm x 23 cm.
Swartz was a liquor dealer in business between
1912 and 1920. A fourth pint flask was almost
fully mendable. Vent molded, it was embossed
"Guaranteed" and "P. Dempsey Boston, Mass."
Dempsey was a liquor distributor in Boston and
Lowell between 1892 and 1915 and advertised in
the Lowell Directory (Figure 7-10).
Operation B
Bases and finishes from seven different wine
bottles were recovered from the boardinghouse,
of which five were mold-made and two were heat
altered and could not be dated. Three green
finishes had flat string rims and flat lips. Two
were probably made between 1880-1910 (one
from Feature 6), and one dark olive green finish
could be dated no more closely than after the
1850s. There were bases from two turn-molded
wine bottles, one bright aqua and one green,
manufactured between 1880-1920.
Operation B
All of the 36 liquor bottles were represented by
bases and finishes. Five bottles were light green
or aqua, one was amber, with the rest colorless.
There were 28 pint or half-pint flasks and two
cylindrical fifths. Six bases were probably from
miniature whiskies. Four small brandy-type
finishes (bore diameter of 1 cm) were probably
part of four of these bottles. Of the 34 datable
bases and finishes, 26 were mold-manufactured,
all after 1880, and eight were machine-
manufactured after 1910. Fourteen of the mold-
made bottles date after 1890, including one P.
Dempsey flask identical to the one recovered
from Operation A.
Wine
Operation A
The tenement yielded one base and one finish
to two different wine bottles, both mold made.
The partial base was part of an English "wine"
bottle (Figures 7-11, 7-12). Such vessels held a
variety of beverages including wine, porter,
cider, and distilled liquor. Made of black glass,
the bottle was manufactured in a "Ricketts"
mold between the late 1830s and late 1840s
(Jones 1986: 98) and had a sand -type pontil scar.
The base measured approximately 9.7 cm in
diameter. In a circle around the bottom edge of
the base was embossed "H. RICKETTS & CO
GLASSWORKS BRISTOL." The olive-green
finish, which represents the second wine bottle,
was formed with a finishing tool. It had a flat
string rim and a downward-sloping lip. A
common finish for French wines and
champagnes, it was first used in France in the
mid-19th century (Dumbrell 1983: 135). The
manufacture dates of other artifacts in the same
provenience as the finish (Feature 25/D, the
cellar), however, places the bottle's manufacture
around 1900.
Beer
Operation A
The tenement yielded finishes to four
different beer bottles. Two amber crown finishes
were mold made between 1892 and 1920 (one
from Feature 45/B, the privy) and two were
machine made after 1908. There were numerous
body fragments, probably to the same bottles as
the finishes, embossed with the words "Harvard
Brew Company." This Lowell brewery advertised
in the City Directory beginning in 1898 (Figure
7-13).
Operation B
There were bases and finishes to five different
mold-made, amber and green beer bottles
recovered from the boardinghouse. Two
identical amber bases measured 5 cm in
diameter, and the heels were embossed "EHE
CO." The Edward H. Everett Glass Company of
Newark, Ohio, associated with this mark, was in
business between 1883 and 1904 (Toulouse 1971:
185). One of the amber bases was recovered
from level A in the privy (Feature 61).
Soda
Operation A
There were bases and finishes from two
colorless and two green soda bottles recovered.
The tenement also yielded one whole and one
nearly whole, colorless soda bottle. Five were
mold made (four after 1892 and one after 1880),
and one, from the level A of the bulkhead
(Feature 23), was machine-manufactured after
1908. All the vessels have been designated soda,
but it must be noted that it is sometimes
difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish between
soda and mineral water containers (Munsey
1970: 101).
134 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
h
"SuT>- ■>:,■£
* "America's Health Beverage!" <
*v.
i
t
§
HARVARD
$1000.Q0
PURE BEER.
j ..„.w^,SOLD BY
j FIRST-CLASS DEALERS
TIIHOUGHOUT Till'
I Central, Eastern and Atlantic Coast States.
!
Brewery and Main Office:
! HARVARD BREWING CO.
LOWELL, MASS.
n
**
Figure 7-13. Advertisement in 1901 Lowell City Directory for Harvard Brew Company.
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 135
Figure 7-14 Three soda bottles. Left, embossed P.Kelley & Co. Center, embossed P.
Kelley. Right, embossed Jas. Calnin & Co. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 7-15. Detail of the Kelley and Calnin soda bottles. (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.)
136 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
e;stabl!8Hl:d
YKAU8.
THK
|yox POPULI PRESS
...PRINTERS...
218 CENTRAL STREET,
WE KNOW OUR BUSINESS.
WE STICK TO IT LOWELL. MASS.
-MANCI'MITKLK !*■
SODA, MINERAL WATER and GINGER ALE
Agent for Portnmoutlt llrewln* Co.'* Ale And Porter, ttml Mac*™
r'ttllH S|»r»y, Hnil Conmiiiierw* i.njter.
WHOLESALE and RETAIL. 19, 26 and 27 DAVIDSON ST., LOWELL.
F. A. TOBINS PRINTERY,
Commerical Printing °JL!^J?ff^P^
NEW TYPE. NEW MACHINERY, ARTISTIC WORK
YOU SENO A POSTAL. I WILL 00 THE REST
Rooms 13 and 14, ASSOCIATE BUILDINU.
LOWELL, MASS.
D. P. KNOWLTON,
PIANO, FURNITURE = SAFE MOVER
IN AND OUT OF TOWN.
If the Piano will not go up your stairs I have all the conveniences for putting
it in at the window. Pianos and Furniture Packed for Shipping.
! PEICES LOW
PIANO BOXES BOUOHT AND SOLD. STORAOE FURNISHED. SATISFACTION dlVEV
Office, 20 Prescott Street, Lowell, Mass.
Re.idei. ':<■, 22 Eiflhteenth St Stand, Market Street. Telephone Connection
ALKXANDKK MIKAULT,
PIANO AND ORGAN TUNER AND REPAIRER.
li,.l„. -n .< M.rr.'l. II" -k St""- 1=1 CWlml "I . W PrMCOIl HI "' « f CfnlrAl SI . .Ill ret.l.r |.r-i„|.l alKn'loi.
Onto. »n .1 '"^y;,,^.'.,,,,,, ,„ ,.„„l„«. . I-I...O m ■■>" fn"" I" I" •"■ •>>■ ™IU«* " •■
«,,.„!! Cty B....a. A M....0I1. C«n M.nju.r •■ M» UNUTKHr MAI.I-. I.OMF.I.I.. H.IM.
Hetldence, SOS Fleich»r St<««<
il'UVS .V Mi-OAWhKV, l*i-.».»ri€
Pool, Billiards and Lunch Room, Tobacco and Cigars
MEALS AT ALL HOURS. HOT AND COLD LUNCHES.
tm-o. aoa niiPPiAgaaiac mv.. - IiOWBIa1j._
Figure 7-16. Advertisement in 1897 Lowell City Directory for P. Kelley. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 137
The whole bottle was vent molded, with a
crown finish, and embossed "P. KELLEY,
LOWELL, MASS" (Figures 7-14 ctr, 7-15 ctr).
Kelley first appeared in the City Directory in
1885 as a manufacturer and bottler of soda,
mineral water, ale, and porter. By 1897, he
advertised that he manufactured only
carbonated beverages (Figure 7-16). The bottle
measured 5 cm x 23 cm. A base and partial body
to a second, identical bottle was also recovered.
A third bottle in Feature 23/ D, the bulkhead
(Figures 7-141, 7-15, left), with the same
dimensions as the other two bottles, was also
vent molded. It was embossed "P. KELLEY &
CO.," the name of the firm after 1906. The
company was out of business by 1917. The fourth
bottle was embossed "JAS. CALNIN & CO.,
LOWELL, MASS." Above the company's name,
the bottle was marked "REGISTERED," and
below it, 'THIS BOTTLE NOT TO BE SOLD"
(Figures 7-14r, 7-15r) In business between 1886
and 1913, Calnin advertised in the 1900 Directory
that he manufactured and bottled carbonated
beverages and sold bottled ale, porter, and lager
(Figure 7-10) . The bottle measured 6 cm across
the base, 18 cm from the base to the start of the
neck, and it, too, was vent-molded.
Operation B
Bases and finishes from seven green and
colorless soda bottles came from the
boardinghouse. Four were mold-made between
1892 and 1920, and three were machine-made
after 1908.
One of the crown finishes was probably from
the same bottle from which a colorless body
fragment was embossed "COL" "TLIN." The
full embossed wording would read "COCA
COLA BOTTLING WORKS PHOENIX,
ARIZONA." The bottle was made between 1905
and 1915 (Munsey 1970: 110).
Discussion
Given the overwhelming percentage of glass
that was manufactured and deposited in the
backlots after 1880, one can discuss with most
certainty patterns of behavior of residents who
lived in the housing during those years.
There were two overall differences among the
medicine, alcohol, and soda assemblages from
the two operations. Nearly twice as many vessels
were recovered from the boardinghouse backlot
as compared to the tenement backlot, and many
more vessels were recovered from yard deposits
in the boardinghouse as compared to the
tenement. The greater number of individuals in
the boardinghouse over time accounts in part for
the difference in number of vessels, but the
amount of scatter suggests that the
boardinghouse backlot was messier than the
tenement backlot. Despite municipal refuse
collection and a mill regulation that stipulated
yards were to be kept free of trash
(Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of Labor
1882: 291), residents tossed their empty glass
vessels in the yards. Neither Boott management
(at least after about 1880) nor the post-1900
owner (Saiman Sirk) evidently did much to
correct the situation.
There was a heavy concentration of glass in
the tenement backlot between the bulkhead
entrance to the cellar and the woodshed. In the
boardinghouse backlot a concentrated area of
glass ran between the unit's ell and the
woodshed. These areas were logical pathways
from the units to the woodsheds and the privies
they housed, and residents must have dropped
or tossed trash there on their way to and from
the woodsheds.
The types of products in the two backlots and
the percentages of medicine, alcohol, and soda
glass from both assemblages were almost
identical. The relative amounts, however, were
probably significantly underrepresented.
Municipal refuse collection and consumption of
products away from the housing are two factors
to consider, and, in all likelihood, workers also
returned bottles for deposit. Today this practice
has more to do with environmental concerns
than economic motives, but recycling of glass
containers in the late 19th and early 20th
centuries was done largely for economic reasons
(Cheney 1982; Busch 1987). Soda, milk, and
whiskey bottles were returned most frequently,
particularly those that were embossed. Workers
probably carted empty containers to the local
junk dealer or back to the store for cash.
Although the sample may be too small to be
able to draw conclusions, it is possible that
workers also saved money by purchasing locally-
made products more often than products
shipped from a distance. The place of
manufacture for 29 vessels could be identified.
Fourteen bottles represented six separate Lowell
companies, and three bottles came from other
Massachusetts towns. The other products had
been shipped from New York, New Jersey,
Maryland, Iowa, Ohio, Arizona, and California.
Beginning in the 1830s, Lowell had been
linked by rail with Boston, a major transportation
center. Thus, it is not surprising that products —
not just luxuries, but everyday commodities —
from as far away as the West Coast were sold in
Lowell by the 1880s. Locally-made products,
138 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
however, were probably cheaper than products
made elsewhere, and the difference in cost may
have swayed workers toward local brands. The
possibility cannot be dismissed, however, that,
when recovered from the ground, Lowell
products were simply easier to identify.
None of the proprietary medicine vessels
could be identified as having contained
remedies sold for gender-specific ailments. The
decorative cosmetic and cologne containers,
however, can almost certainly be associated with
female use. Although perhaps these little
"luxuries" lessened the monotony of the mill
routine, they served a practical purpose as well.
The fragrances were probably used as a
replacement for a daily bath. Despite the fact
that the mill workers spent many hours a day in
hot, dusty mill rooms, workers complained that
they were given neither the time nor the space to
maintain "personal cleanliness and frequent
bathing so necessary to health" (Female Labor
Reform Association 1845: n.p.).
Workers must have felt debilitated much of
the time from the over-heated, under-ventilated
mill rooms, and, along with everyday aches and
pains, the unhealthful work environment no
doubt contributed to the heavy consumption of
proprietary medicines by the Boott residents.
Medicines represented 48% of the assemblage
from the tenement and 45% of the assemblage
from the boardinghouse.
The fact that the cures contained potentially
addictive drugs, however, also played a part in
their purchase. Although products were touted
as cures for everything from ringworm to gout to
consumption, in reality, most of the nostroms
were concocted with flavorings, herbs, and
copious amounts of alcohol. By 1900 some
brands had such a high alcohol content that they
required a liquor license for their sale (Ketchum
1965: 90). Many cures also "contained harmful
amounts of codeine, cocaine, morphine, heroine,
canabis indica and phenobarbitol" (Berkow,
quoted in Baugher-Perlin 1978: 146). If the
products did not cure the illnesses, at least they
numbed the pain and discomfort.
"Cures" were no cheaper than beverage
alcohol and, at lea^t in the mid-1 800s, were more
expensive. At mid-century nostrums cost on
average one dollar a bottle, while whiskey could
be had for 25<S a gallon (Williams 1980: 559). In
1887, one Lowell druggist sold his own brand of
Sarsaparilla for 55<t a bottle (Vox Populi, October
8, 1887). He did not state how much a bottle
contained, but medicines were commonly sold
in sizes up to a quart (Munsey 1970: 69). The
druggist sold a pint of his best-grade whiskey for
50c and his cheapest grade for 25t. The quantity
of medicines purchased despite the cost may
well be indicative of workers' ill health and their
desire to "try anything" to feel relief.
For women in 19th-century America, the
purchase of patent medicine took on an added
dimension. Morphine-based medications were
often prescribed to treat "female complaints,"
along with headaches, fatigue, and anxiety, and,
during the 19th century, the majority of opiate
addicts were women (Mendelson and Mello
1985: 47). It has also been estimated that, after
the Civil War, one out of every ten women was a
"hidden alcoholic" (Lender and Martin 1982:
118). With the number of women involved in
temperance campaigns and the growth of the
male-dominated saloon, many women who
drank did so privately. The substitution of
medicinal nostroms for beverage alcohol
afforded women a socially acceptable means of
alcohol consumption. Given that boardinghouse
#45 housed only women until about 1890, and
the stigma associated with alcohol use, these
factors could easily have contributed to the
purchase of medicines by the Boott workers.
Both males and females in the Boott housing
had another reason to disguise alcohol intake, as
the Lowell mills forbade beverage alcohol in the
company's housing. Although the rule
disappeared from published regulations after
the Civil War and may not have been fully
enforced from then on (Bond 1989: 10), a series
of Boott letters (Boott Mills Correspondence
Book 1888-1891; see Chapter 3 and Appendix A,
this volume) provide solid evidence that, as late
as the 1890s, workers were dismissed for alleged
drunkenness. Among the workers fired were
individuals who boarded in unit #45, one of the
units explored during the archeological
investigation. In one instance, a boarder in #45
was dismissed because he had been seen
bringing bottles of liquor into the house.
Even after the Boott began to sell off the
housing in 1899, management continued to
attempt to regulate workers' behavior regarding
alcohol. There was a stipulation in the deed of
sale to the new owner that the conveyance be
made subject to the perpetual restriction that no
intoxicating liquor ever be sold on any part of the
premises (Middlesex County Deeds 1899, Book
314: 206).
Evidence of workers' alcohol use before 1880 is
meager: one English "wine" bottle and, possibly,
one French wine bottle pre-date 1880. The
evidence as it stands suggests that most of the
women and supervisory personnel who lived in
the units during the earlier part of the 19th
century either did not drink beverage alcohol, or
they consumed it elsewhere. Yet the evidence is
Medicine, Alcohol, and Soda Vessels 139
really inconclusive and may not be an accurate
gauge of alcohol consumption. One can say only
that the data neither support nor explode the
mills' contention that "intemperance was most
carefully excluded" (Miles 1846: 131).
In sharp contrast to the small number of
earlier vessels, 36% of the containers from the
tenement and 43% from the boardinghouse were
liquor, wine, or beer bottles manufactured after
1880. The mean manufacture dates of many of
the mold-made bottles (1900-1910, or later) and
the presence of machine-made bottles made
after 1904 indicate that some, if not a good deal,
of these bottles were discarded in the backlots
after the sale of the units in 1900. Once the units
were sold, residents may not have been
permitted to sell liquor in the units, but the
regulation against alcohol use was probably
abandoned.
The bottle dump or cache in the tenement
woodshed (Feature 46), near the privy indicates,
however, that, at some point, the woodshed was
used as a repository for liquor and medicine
bottles. The fact that the bottles had been
deposited whole and remained unbroken for a
period of time indicates that the bottles were set
carefully under a step, a platform, or even the
woodshed floor. Perhaps workers drank in the
woodshed, away from a keeper's or agent's
watchful eye, and then hid the bottles. If so, in
light of the municipal trash collection in Lowell,
this would help explain the cache. The
woodsheds in the rear of the row, hidden from
the street, would have been a relatively safe spot
to hide bottles, empty or full.
The majority of alcohol containers were pint or
half-pint flasks rather than cylindrical fifths, and
liquor flasks far outnumbered soda, beer and
wine bottles. Workers' income is one factor that
may have necessitated purchasing non-
essentials, such as alcohol, in small containers,
but flasks were also easier to conceal (e.g., in
one's pocket). Even if one takes into account
recycling and trash collection, the relative
number of whiskey flasks compared to other
bottles suggests that liquor was favored over
fermented and non-alcoholic drinks. If in fact
distilled beverages were preferred, ethnicity of
the workers, personal preference, and cost of
product were probably all determining factors
that influenced workers' choice of beverage.
Regardless of what workers drank, however, the
number of bottles illustrates that drinking was a
frequent activity of the boarders by the end of
the 19th century, if not before.
In conclusion, the analysis of the medicine,
alcohol, and soda assemblage suggests certain
patterns to Boott workers' consumer behavior
and underscores ways workers coped with mill
life and adapted to the mills' policies. Although
the importance of factors such as personal
preference, ethnicity, and availability of
products should not be underestimated (see
Chapter 9, this volume), the assemblage
suggests that workers may have made consumer
choices based, at least some of the time, on the
need to economize. Workers purchased some
beverages, like liquor, in relatively small bottles,
and they may have bought a greater percentage
of locally-made products compared to items
shipped from a distance. Recycling of glass
containers can only be inferred through the
assemblage. In all likelihood, however, workers
returned bottles for extra income.
Not all choices, however, centered around
economy. No doubt "luxuries," such as
colognes, made life a bit more pleasant, but
fragrances were likely used as a necessary
substitute for a daily bath. The unhealthy
environment of the mill rooms must have
contributed to the consumption of quantities of
medicine, and these products may also have
been used as a socially acceptable substitute for
beverage alcohol. Alcohol was clearly, however,
a product many workers purchased and, despite
company regulations, drinking was an activity
workers were unwilling to relinquish (see Bond
1988 for a full discussion of this topic). The
regulation, however, may have necessitated — at
least in some instances — careful disposal of
liquor containers.
Patterns within the medicine, alcohol, and
soda assemblage illustrate some of the complex
set of decisions made by workers who lived with
a "corporate pattern of consumption and
lifestyle" (Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987: 6). Cost
of products, an individual's personal preference
and ethnic background, and societal values were
all factors in the consumer choices made by the
workers. Overarching elements to these factors,
however, were the ever-present company
policies and their results, such as an unhealthy
work environment (cf. Gross 1988), and the mill
regulations, such as the proscription against
alcohol use, with which workers also had to
contend.
140 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Chapter 8
ANALYSIS OF PERSONAL EFFECTS FROM
EXCAVATIONS OF THE BOOTT MILLS BOARDINGHOUSE BACKLOTS IN
LOWELL, MASSACHUSETTS
by Grace H. Ziesing
Introduction
The artifacts analyzed for this chapter include
all those related to personal clothing and
adornment. These include buttons, beads and
jewelry, textiles, leather, and hair combs and
ornaments. The analysis of this class of artifacts
is particularly germane to the residential
problem focus detailed in the research design
for the overall Boott Mills project (Beaudry and
Mrozowski 1987: 6). Specifically, it was
hypothesized that an examination of personal
effects would have particular applicability to the
study of worker consumer behavior since other
classes of material (e.g., furnishings, cutlery,
tableware, food, etc.) would have been provided
by the corporation or the boardinghouse keeper.
Objects related to personal clothing and
adornment are not the only artifacts germane to
a study of worker consumer behavior, however.
Tobacco pipes and bottles (particularly those
that would have contained medicines or
alcoholic beverages) are two other classes of
objects that relate directly to personal, as
opposed to corporate, behavior. Both groups of
artifacts receive detailed treatment in this
volume with cogent analyses of their potential
meaning and significance in terms of a study of
working class consumer patterns (see Cook on
tobacco pipes and Bond on bottles).
In examining the personal effects excavated
from the Lowell backlots three major goals were
sought. First, an itemization and thorough
description of the assemblages with an
emphasis on their chronological implications.
Second, a discussion of what the assemblages
reveal about worker clothing and personal
adornment including a discussion of their
gender affiliations. And finally, what, if anything,
could be determined about worker consumer
behavior as it was outlined in the initial research
design. A corollary of this original hypothesis is
that a comparison of the assemblages at the
tenement house backlot (Operation A) and the
boardinghouse backlot (Operation B) should
reveal different patterns of consumption
(Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987: 6) that may or
may not be reflected in the personal effects.
The following discussion is broken down into
functional types. Each section will include a
description of the artifact class, including an
explanation of cataloging decisions, and a
detailed itemization of the artifacts by
provenience. A discussion of patterns and some
preliminary interpretations will follow.
Buttons and Studs
A total of 142 artifacts were cataloged as
buttons, 21 of which are actually clothing studs
(characterized by a short neck with a flat base on
one end and a usually smaller, rounded knob on
the other; see Figure 8-2). All buttons and studs
were cataloged by material of manufacture,
each, with its chronological implications, to be
discussed below. Of the 121 buttons, 86 (or 71%)
are white utilitarian sew-through buttons made
of porcelain (Figure 8-1), while another 5 are of
colored porcelain and 3 are hemispherical
shank-type white porcelain (2 of these appear to
be shoe buttons). Only 8 of the buttons are
metal, 12 are various forms of glass, 5 are made
from shell, and just 1 is plastic and 1 is wood. Of
the studs, 13 (or 62%) are made of white
porcelain (Figure 8-2), 1 of glass, and 7 of metal.
Metal buttons, by far the most well studied
and thoroughly reported type of fastener, occur
throughout the historical period in North
America. Technological and stylistic changes
render metal buttons a useful chronological
indicator (Noel Hume 1969). Of particular utility
are military buttons which varied from regiment
to regiment, thus adding a spatial dimension to
their value as interpretive tools. Unfortunately,
the metal buttons from Lowell are for the most
part heavily corroded and undiagnostic save for
two that will be discussed in greater detail below.
Of particular interest, however, are four of the
metal studs. These artifacts have been
cataloged as metal, but in actual fact they are a
combination of metal coated with an
unidentified material, possibly plastic. In one
case, only the coating remains. Despite the
advanced degree of deterioration, these objects
have been identified as "lever-top" collar studs
identical to those advertized in the 1895
141
142 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Figure 8-1. Some of the 86 white utilitarian sew-through porcelain buttons excavated
from the Boott Mills backlots in Lowell (scale in cm). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
Personal Effects 143
* X X X
Figure 8-2. A few of the plain white porcelain stationary collar studs excavated from the
Boott Mills backlots in Lowell (scale in cm). (Photograph by Richard S.
Kanaski.)
COLLAR BUTTONS COLD AND COLD PLATED. Prices, Each.
Nos- 70087 to 20093 are solderless. one piece buttons.
A 3&
20067
2008S
20O91
20093
200(15
suit ionary Top.
Stationary Top.
Stationary Top.
Stationary Top.
i.eier Top. Rol
solid gold. $1.25.
gold tilled. $o.>9.
gold tilled. $o.2.Y
gold filled. $0.20.
plate. $0.25
2(m>kh Same In
2009O Same In
20092 Same in
20094 Same In
gold tilled. *> .10
■olid gold. SI. 10
solid gold. $10.".
solid gold. SI 00
20103
Separable Gold
Front. SO-35.
20103* Same Solid
Gold. $1.25
A H/'fcfc.
20105
Stone Set. plate
22c. Gold. $1.25
20106 Ladies' Rrll-
llant Set. $0.25.
20107 i.cilil Diamond
Set. $t 50
20107 A Same In
Rolled I'late 15c
2<MK»S
Lever Top. Rol1
plate $n 15
201197 Same in
solid gold. 1 1 iki
20108
Roll Plate Tie
Holder. $0.15
Q
2000H
Lever Top. Rol
plate. $o.lo
20ii!i!> same li
solid gold. S» «•'
20100
Pearl. $0.10
Perdoz. $l.O0.
201 lo Bone. $o.ol
Perdoz. $0.10
1
roll plate ?"
201O1 Same
solid KOliI fl
20111
Pearl bark.
Sboe front. JO 13
Aluminum. $<i 1<>
Figure 8-3. Stationary and lever-top collar studs available from the 1895 Montgomery
Ward catalog. Note that these are specifically identified as collar buttons, and that one
is labelled exclusively for ladies. (Reproduced courtesy of Dover Publications, Inc.)
144 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Montgomery Ward catalog (Montgomery Ward
& Co. [hereafter MW] 1895: 173; Figure 8-3)
except that they are not gold plated.
Glass buttons grew in popularity during the
19th century beginning in the 1840s (Luscomb
1967: 80; Epstein 1968: 45). They were available in
many colors and shapes and were primarily
imported from Bohemia (Jones 1924: 39; Albert
and Adams 1951: 92, 98) although they were
surely produced elsewhere as well. Sourcing and
dating glass buttons is very difficult because of
the great variety manufactured, many of which
continued in popularity for decades (Luscomb
1967: 80; Epstein 1968: 45). The most diagnostic
kind of glass buttons are black glass which came
into vogue in the 1860s when they were used as a
substitute for jet. Jet buttons and jewelry were
made popular by Queen Victoria when she went
into mourning after the death of Prince Albert in
1861 (Hughes and Lester 1981: 6; Albert and
Adams 1951: 98, 100; Epstein 1968: 48-49). Real jet
buttons are extremely rare, but black glass
buttons, often called "jet," are very common.
The continuing association between jet and
black glass is evident in the mail-order catalogs
of the 1890s where "jet" is sold at extremely low
prices (Sears, Roebuck and Co. [hereafter SR]
1897: 320; Figure 8-4) and is most probably black
glass. Many pressed black glass and small black
glass buttons were imported into the United
States from Bohemia and Austria from ca. 1870
until ca. 1880 when they began to be
manufactured domestically (Hughes and Lester
1981: 83, 89) (see Figure 8-10 for black glass
buttons excavated at Lowell).
Buttons made of naturally occurring materials
such as wood and shell are difficult to date with
any precision as they were manufactured
throughout the 19th century (if not before) and
can still be found today (Rose and Santeford
1985: 41; Hughes and Lester 1981: 230-231, 251).
Flat two- and four-hole sew-through shell
buttons of the variety excavated at Lowell have
been identified in 18th-century archeological
contexts in Michigan (Stone 1974: 59-60). Shell
buttons, however, were not made in the United
States until at least the beginning of the 19th
century (Hughes and Lester 1981: 230) and it was
not until ca. 1900 that the importation of shell
buttons was significantly affected by a rise in
domestic production (Jones 1924: 94). Until the
middle of the 19th century when mass
production was made possible by a machine
process for cutting shell, shell buttons were
made in small quantities by hand (Epstein 1968:
60).
Plastic buttons are neat chronological
indicators as long as the specific material from
which they are made can be identified. Celluloid
was discovered as early as the mid-1850s but was
not produced commercially until 1869 when it
was developed as a substitute for ivory
(Anonymous 1988: 5; Hughes and Lester 1981:
57). Celluloid immediately became a popular
material for buttons and other small decorative
items as it was ideal for imitating many natural
materials such as tortoise shell, glass, and horn.
Even though celluloid was highly flammable its
popularity continued through World War II, but
it was eventually replaced by non-flammable
acrylics such as lucite that were developed in the
1930s. Celluloid can be identified by the smell of
camphor that is released when heat is applied.
Care must be taken, however, as too much heat
can cause celluloid to burst into flames
(Anonymous 1988: 5; Hughes and Lester 1981: 57,
66).
Another early plastic was casein which was
first discovered in 1890 but was not produced
commercially until 1919. Although still available
today, casein was most popular from the 1920s
through the 1940s. Early casein buttons can be
identified by their characteristic creamy color,
often surface-dyed and now faded. This material
is not as flammable as celluloid, but is not heat
resistant and tends to warp (Anonymous 1988: 5;
Hughes and Lester 1981: 66). The one plastic
button recovered in the excavations at Lowell
will be discussed in detail below.
The majority of the buttons and studs in the
Lowell assemblage are made out of white
porcelain, for which very little information exists
in the archeological literature. Although there
are several button typologies available to the
archeologist, most of the collections reported in
the literature consist of metal buttons (often
military) or buttons dating to the early 19th
century and before (e.g., Noel Hume 1969: 88-93;
Calver and Bolton 1950; Stone 1974; Olsen 1963).
As a starting point, it is worthy of note that no
porcelain buttons were found in the 18th-century
contexts of Fort Michilimackinac despite an
extensive collection numbering 1,333 buttons
broken down into 188 categories (Stone 1974: 45).
South (1964) notes the presence of porcelain
buttons (his Type 23) at Fort Fisher and
Brunswick Town in contexts dating from 1800 to
1865. The majority of the Type 23 buttons (i.e., all
but two) are associated with Fort Fisher and an
1837-1865 context, however. In fact, 29% of all
the buttons recovered from Fort Fisher were of
this variety.
Despite its ubiquity, South made little attempt
to identify porcelain buttons beyond their
archeological context — other reports of these
artifacts are similarly lacking in precision. Two
Personal Effects 145
BUTTON
DEPARTMENT.
Jet Dress Buttons. pr pr
^ ^^ Doz. Gross.
48%v 4H& 0800 Black Ball
HTi lM ■ RHI Cut Jet Dress
W ^MT Buttons $0.04 $0.40
^^ XDr 9805 Black Ball
Cut Jet Dress
9800 9805 Buttons,larger .05 .50
9808 Black Cut Jet Ball Dress Buttons, one
size larger than 9806 06 .65
9827 9829
Cuts are exact size of Buttons. Per Doz.
9827 Fine Jet Buttons, polished,
smooth edges $0.05
9829 Fine Jet Buttons, polished,
smooth edges 05
9831 Fine Jet Buttons, polished,
smooth rim edge 05
9831
Per Gross
$0.50
.50
.50
9833 9836 9838
Cuts are exact size of Buttons.
Per Do/.. Per Gross.
9833 Fine Jet Buttons, dull pol-
ished, smooth rim edges $0.05 $0.50
9836 Fine Jet Buttons, polished
points in crescent 05 50
9838 Fine Dull Jet Buttons, pol-
Figure 8-4. A sample of "jet" buttons available from Montgomery Ward in 1895.
(Reproduced courtesy of Dover Publications, Inc.)
146 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Agate Buttons,White and Colored.
(See cuts for sizes.)
^wr ,. 10280 Agate Buttons, white,
f^m±\ full shirt size; 12 dozen on
I C9 ) I'er card $0.03 I C W
\**/ Six cards 16V^^
10280
10282
Per Per
gross, doz.
10282 Agate Buttons, white, large $0.07 $0.42
10285 Agate Buttons,
white, large.
©\ Ter gross $0.09 / jgm±
\ Per 72 doz 48 # £2*m
1102K8 Agate Buttons, I VU9
§ white, large. \ MB^
.M Pergross $0.10
Per72dOZ 6° 10285
10288
Per Per.
10291 Agate Buttons, gross. 72 doz.
Ox white, largest or full
\ underclothing size $0.11 $0.60
110293 Agate Buttons,
I white, colored edge,
/ shirt size (No. llA) 14 .75
10295 Agate Buttons,
colored edge, shirt size
10291 (No.20) 25 1.35
10297 Agate Buttons, white, colored edge,
extra large size 35 1.80
Nos. 10293, 10295 and 10297 come with brown,
black, green, pink, red or blue edges. Please mention
color wanted.
White Fancy Pearl Agates,
(See cuts for style and size.);
. 10300 Pearl AgPte
riCKva Buttons.
fjpji) 1>e r gross " ■ w ■ ° 8fII!0!!§J (IHBSi
10302 Pearl Agate
10304 Buttons. 10302 10300
Per 12 dozen $0.14
U^v 10304 Pearl Agate Buttons.
Bar' Per gross S020
*pflEs^ 10305 Pearl Agate Buttons.
Per gross $0.25
10305
Figure 8-5. Plain and decorated porcelain buttons ("Agates" and "Fancy Pearl Agates")
advertised in the 1895 Montgomery Ward catalog. (Reproduced courtesy of Dover
Publications, Inc.)
Personal Effects 147
such buttons found in 19th-century burials in
Texas were identified as white glass (Fox 1984: 8,
12; Sprague 1989: 132). Likewise, the 5 porcelain
buttons found during investigations of the
Custer Battlefield National Monument were
incorrectly identified as milk glass (Scott and Fox
1987: 91-92). Two other projects at 19th-century
cemeteries in Texas correctly identified the
buttons and studs they recovered as porcelain,
but failed to elaborate beyond simple
description and measurement (Lebo 1988: 77, 79;
McReynolds 1981: 32, 33, 34, 37, 42, 43). The
exception is a report of excavations at a 19th-
century black cemetery in Arkansas which
presents a discussion of the manufacturing
history of the buttons and studs as well as the
uses to which the objects were put (Rose and
Santeford 1985: 41, 49). Even so, the discussion is
incomplete and it is clear that an examination of
the archeological literature will not suffice to
explicate the development and significance of
the plain white porcelain button during the 19th
century.
Turning away from the archeological literature
to the button collectors' literature provides us
with more precise information regarding this
ubiquitous button type. Although porcelain
buttons were available in the early 19th century,
they were hand molded from wet clay and were
considered a luxury item (Hughes and Lester
1981: 31). Around 1840, however, Richard Prosser
of Birmingham, England, patented a process for
making porcelain buttons from a dry china-clay
powder that could be compressed into molds to
mass-produce small, uniform buttons (Jones
1924: 40; Hughes and Lester 1981: 31; Albert and
Adams 1951: 111). The industry was quickly
taken over by French manufacturers who
dominated it from the 1850s to the early 20th
century. The French process was slightly
different as it involved stamping the button out
of wet clay (Hughes and Lester 1981: 31).
Nonetheless, by the second half of the 19th
century, utilitarian porcelain buttons were widely
available in many sizes, shapes, decorations, and
even different colors (Albert and Adams 1951:
111) as well as being very inexpensive:
A great gross, that is twelve gross each of twelve
dozen, is sold for elevenpence, every button
beautifully made, regularly carded on good paper,
and admirably turned out in every respect; the very
paper they are on would be thought worth the
money (Turner 1865 quoted in Jones 1924: 40).
It appears that these buttons were particularly
popular during the second half of the 19th
century and the very beginning of the 20th
century. Mail order catalogs from the 1890s to
the first years of the 20th century list them in
several sizes (e.g., SR 1897: 320; MW 1895: 85; SR
1908: 1004). In contrast, the Montgomery Ward
catalog of 1922 (MW 1922: 183) and the Sears
Roebuck catalog of 1936 (SR 1936: 423) list no
porcelain buttons. Instead, the plain buttons are
made of pearl (some genuine, some synthetic) or
vegetable ivory, and the fancier ones are made
of the plastic of the day (i.e., celluloid in 1922,
bakelite in 1936).
One of the problems in studying this kind of
button is the plethora of names applied to it.
According to Hughes and Lester (1981: 31),
white-bodied porcelain buttons were called
carnelions by their manufacturers. Agate, on the
other hand, was used to refer to white-bodied
earthenware buttons, though the term became
less precise over time and eventually was used to
refer to any white-bodied china button. The
term perle was used specifically by French
manufacturers. Mail-order catalogs from the
1890s and early 1900s use the term agate for
plain white and colored four-hole buttons, but
call the ones with decorated rims pearl agates
(Figure 8-5). The term pearl (alone) seems to be
used consistently in the mail-order catalogs and
by button collectors to refer to buttons made
from shell and mother of pearl (e.g., SR 1897: 85;
MW 1895: 320), although the pearl collar stud
advertized in the 1895 Montgomery Ward
catalog could possibly be porcelain (see Figure
8-3). To avoid confusion, therefore, all of the
ceramic buttons and stud in the Lowell
assemblage have been cataloged as porcelain.
In agreement with the patent date for the dry
china powder process for manufacturing
porcelain buttons, all such buttons and studs
(including colored ones) have been assigned a
beginning manufacture date of 1840. A formal
and decorative typology for these buttons has
been used in the cataloging process (Figure 8-6).
This typology is based on terminology employed
by button collectors (e.g., Hughes and Lester
1981: 31-33) and is designed to simplify the
description and classification of these ubiquitous
buttons. It is hoped that future research will
bring to light more information regarding
specific periods during which the various forms
and /or decorative elements were popular. Such
information has the potential to help greatly
refine button chronologies.
Throughout the following summary of the
buttons excavated from Lowell, several terms
will be employed to describe the means with
which the buttons were fastened onto the
clothing. A brief discussion of the terminology is
in order. The most prevalent type in the
assemblage is the sew-through button already
mentioned. This simply refers to buttons with
148 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
holes — in this assemblage two or four holes.
Other buttons have various kinds of shanks.
Although some kinds of shanks can be used to
date buttons, the ones found on the buttons in
the Lowell assemblage are very common and
were in use for long periods of time thus
rendering them useless as chronological
indicators. Most common is the loop shank
which is simply a round or flat wire bent into a
loop with the two ends inserted into the back of
the button. A variation on this is a loop shank
that is set into a shank plate which is mounted
onto the back of the button, or sometimes set
into a recess. Another type is the self-shank,
referring to buttons for which the shank and
button are fashioned out of the same piece of
material such that they are one. Usually this is
the result of a molding process and is typical of
buttons made in the 2nd half of the 19th century
(Luscomb 1967: 175). In terms of shape, all of the
two- and four-hole porcelain buttons discussed
below are dish-shaped unless otherwise
indicated.
Artifactual Summary
Of the 142 buttons and studs excavated from
the backlots in Lowell, 50 came from behind the
supervisors' tenement (Operation A) and 79
from behind the boardinghouse (Operation B
and Trench #2). In addition, 11 buttons and
studs came out of Trench #1 and just 2 out of
Trench #3 (test units from the first phase of
excavations; see Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987a).
In Operation A, 32 (64%) of the buttons and studs
were found within designated features, 5 (10%)
occurred within the tenement structure, and 13
(26%) were recovered from open yard areas. By
contrast, 56 (71%) of the buttons and studs
recovered from Operation B and Trench #2 were
found in open yard spaces. Following is a
detailed discussion of the button/stud
assemblage by provenience, first in Operation A
and then in Operation B (which includes the
data from Trench #2).
Operation A
In Operation A, the largest concentration of
buttons was found in Feature 27 which was
identified as a planting hole just to the north of
the cellar steps. A total of 9 buttons was found
here, 7 of which are of the plain white porcelain
variety with four holes and ranging in size from
1.1 to 1.4 cm. Four of these buttons are almost
identical and appear to have been part of a set,
perhaps coming from a single item of clothing.
Also in this feature were a tiny shell button (D =
.8 cm) with minute holes clearly meant for very
light fabrics (possibly infant clothing), and a
metal shank-type button with an eagle motif.
The metal button is severely corroded and the
shank, which was probably a loop, has snapped
off. Nonetheless, the motif is intact enough to
see that it is typical of the post-revolution
"Federal" army buttons discussed by Calver and
Bolton (1950: 143) — the button depicts a spread-
eagle with a banner arching over its head.
Unfortunately, the lettering on the banner is
illegible, but the banner is longer than those
pictured by Calver and Bolton, and could
probably have fit a longer word than "Federal."
Although the design of the button — a one-piece
flat disc with an attached shank — is typical of
18th-century buttons (Hughes and Lester 1981:
221), the eagle motif (without the banner)
persisted throughout the 19th century (MW
1895: 85; SR 1897: 320).
Feature 45, a privy, contained 7 buttons, all
found in level B. Four of these are plain white
porcelain four-hole buttons, 1 is a brown-bodied
porcelain button with two holes in the mound
style (Figures 8-6c, 8-7), and another porcelain
button is hemispherical in shape, has a corroded
iron shank, and appears to have been a shoe
button. The last specimen from Feature 45 is an
undiagnostic alloy button with a corroded iron
shank.
Six buttons came out of the cellar (Feature 25),
2 from level C and 4 from level D. There were 2
four-hole shell buttons in the cellar, 1 each in
levels C and D. Level C contained, in addition, 1
four-hole white porcelain button in the inkwell
shape and banded red (Figures 8-6d, 8-8). Level
D contained 2 plain four-hole buttons and 1 two-
hole, tan mound button.
Feature 44, a dark soil stain connected to the
drain box in the north portion of the yard,
contained 2 buttons of the plain white four-hole
variety, 1 each in levels A and C, and 1 white
porcelain stud fragment in level A. Two buttons
were found in Feature 46 which was identified as
a bottle dump. One of these is of the ubiquitious
four-hole white porcelain variety while the other
is an orange faceted-glass specimen with a
drilled self shank (Figure 8-9b). This shape was
available from at least the 1890s as it appears in
the 1895 Montgomery Ward catalog in jet (MW
1895: 84; Figure 8-4).
Other features in Operation A yielded just one
button or stud each. A single plain white four-
hole button was found in the ell foundation wall
(Feature 33) as well as in Feature 24 (an
unidentified soil stain). The top level of the brick
drain box (Feature 37) contained a plain white
porcelain stud, and the cellar stairs (Feature 23)
Personal Effects 149
A.
n
B.
E.
10 20
SCALE 1:1
Figure 8-6. Formal and decorative typology used throughout this analysis to facilitate
description of white porcelain buttons. Buttons can be described both in terms of
shape: A) dish; B) saucer; C) mound; D) inkwell, and decorative elements: E) hobnail
border; F) pie-crust border. The dish is the most common and the least distinctive
shape as the size, slope, and shape of the rim is variable. In a sense, this is a "catch-all"
designation for those buttons that do not fit into the other, more distinctive, categories.
In addition, there is a banded variety in which the edge is painted in a solid color.
Banding occurs most frequently on inkwell shaped buttons, but can also be found on
dishes, hobnails, and pie-crusts. (Drawing by Leslie A. Mead.)
150 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 8-7. Two-hole porcelain buttons. Buttons in top row and at either end of center
row are mound-shaped (scale in cm). (Photographby Richard S. Kanaski.)
Figure 8-8. Four-hole porcelain buttons. Buttons in top row are inkwell-shaped with
banded decoration. The buttons in the middle row are dish-shaped with pie-
crust borders. The first button in the bottom row is dish-shaped with a
hobnail border and the rest have pie-crust borders (scale in cm).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
Personal Effects 151
Figure 8-9. Miscellaneous buttons: A) glass hemispherical button with probable loop
shank from Feature 6 behind the boardinghouse; B) faceted orange glass
self-shank button from Feature 46 behind the tenement; and C) four-hole
wood button from level 1 in Operation B (scale in cm). (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
152 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
A.
B.
D.
E.
0 10 20
SCALE 1 :1
Figure 8-10. Black glass buttons. A) Pressed glass button with swirl design and polished
facets running down the center recovered from level 1 of Feature 43 in Operation A. B)
One of two identical pressed glass buttons found in level 1 of Operation B. Two-thirds of
the surface is faceted and the other third is fashioned as a smiling quarter-moon face.
C) A pressed black glass button with polished facets and an applied silver luster which
makes the button resemble steel. This button was recovered from level 1 in the open
yard area of Operation B. D) A large faceted pressed glass button probably meant for
an overcoat, found in level 2 of the boardinghouse yard. E) A pressed glass button with a
geometric design and unpolished facets uncovered in level 4 of Trench #1. (Drawing by
Leslie A. Mead.)
10
20
1
SCALE 1 :1
Figure 8-11. Metal alloy self-shank button excavated from level 1 of the privy in
Operation B (Feature 61). (Drawing by Leslie A. Mead.)
Personal Effects 153
yielded a corroded lapel button or stud in level F.
The top level of the well (Feature 43) contained a
highly decorative pressed black glass button
with a self shank (Figure 8-10a) that was
probably manufactured after 1870 (Hughes and
Lester 1981: 83, 89), and is very similar to the "jet"
buttons advertized in the 1890s (Figure 8-4). The
button measures 1.3 cm in diameter and has a
line of polished facets running in a curved line
down the center with a braided border.
Of the 13 buttons and studs that were found in
the open yard areas of Operation A, 8 were
recovered from level 1, 2 from level 2, and 3 from
level 3. There were 2 studs in level 1, both plain
white porcelain. The remaining 11 items from
the 3 levels are all four-hole white porcelain
buttons, some fragmentary. One of these, from
level 1, has a pie crust edge decoration (Figures
8-6f, 8-8).
Five buttons were found within the limits of
the tenement foundation, 2 in the cellar area
and 3 in the ell. Both buttons in the cellar came
out of level 1; one of them is a plain four-hole
porcelain button and the other is a badly
deteriorated self-shank (really just a hole drilled
laterally through the underside of the button)
shell button measuring 2.3 cm in diameter. Of
the 3 buttons in the ell, 2 came out of the top
level and the remaining one from level 2. Level 1
contained a corroded metal disk measuring 1.3
cm with no shank that is probably a button, and
a two-hole mound-shaped porcelain button with
a red band. Level 2 yielded part of a glass
composite button with a molded clover motif
painted green on the underside. This button
may have at one time had a metal backing with a
shank attached to it.
Operation B
The pattern in Operation B and Trench #2 is
very different as only 10 buttons and 2 studs
came out of features. Feature 61, the privy,
yielded 4 porcelain four-hole buttons (1 of which
is black) and 1 heavily corroded metal stud in
level 1. The well uncovered in Trench #2
(Feature 2) contained a single white porcelain
four-hole button and a plain white porcelain stud
in levels 9c and b respectively. A single metal
button was found in level 8a of Feature 3, a brick
drain box. The button is copper alloy (or possibly
brass) with a rather large self shank (Figure 8-
11). There is no decoration on the front, and the
button resembles some of the 18th-century
specimens documented by Stone at
Michilimackinac (1974: 48-51). It could perhaps
be classified with Olsen's type A (1963: 553)
inasmuch as it appears to have been cast in one
Figure 8-12. Decorative clothing stud, possibly
half of a cufflink, set with a blue stone, uncovered
in level 3 of Trench #1 (scale in cm).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
piece, shank and all. Oisen notes that early
buttons "as a rule ... were plain, of cast brass
pewter, or whitemetal with wedge-shaped cast
shanks" (Olsen 1963: 552). The button excavated
from Lowell fits this description, and its
appearance in the top level of the privy suggests
that it was not found in its primary depositional
context.
Feature 6 (a sewer pipe trench) yielded 2 white
porcelain buttons, 1 with four holes and the other
saucer-shaped with two holes, and a clear glass
hemispherical button decorated with raised
wavy lines radiating out from a knobbed pole
(Figure 8-9a). The button has a hole in the back
which retains traces of metal corrosion and
probably once housed a loop shank. The surface
finish has a frosted appearance which could
have been obtained through a process of
treating the finished button with acid which
would take away the natural sheen of the glass
(Luscomb 1967: 82). One plain four-hole button
was recovered from level 11 of this feature.
A total of 9 buttons and 2 studs were found
within the limits of the boardinghouse structure,
all in level 1. Three buttons, 2 white porcelain
and 1 black glass, came out of the cellar area.
The glass button is faceted over two-thirds of its
surface, and the remaining third is occupied by a
crescent-moon face (Figure 8-1 Ob). The shank,
although completely corroded, has left a
greenish impression on the back, revealing it to
have been a metal loop shank, probably
mounted on a plate that was slightly inset. An
identical button was found in level 1 out in the
middle of the yard. Although the man-in-the-
154 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
moon motif was popular on buttons throughout
the 19th century (Hughes and Lester 1981: 399),
the fact that these are black glass means they
probably date to the end of the century.
The other 6 buttons and the 2 studs found
within the boardinghouse were recovered from
the ell. The studs are porcelain and glass (1 of
each), 2 of the buttons are plain four-hole
porcelains, 2 are four-hole saucer-shaped
porcelains, 1 is a two-hole porcelain, and the last
one is brown glass.
The remaining 56 buttons and studs from
Operation B and Trench #2 were found in open
yard areas. One plain porcelain button and 1
stud were recovered from the surface. Level 1
yielded 21 white four-hole porcelain buttons (3
saucer-shaped, 1 with a pie crust border, 1 with a
hobnail border [Figures 8-6e, 8-8), and 1 with a
brown band). In addition, there were 3 two-hole
porcelains, 1 four-hole black porcelain, 3
undiagnostic flat metal buttons, 1 wood, 4 glass,
and 1 plastic button as well as 2 white porcelain
studs and 2 lever-top collar studs. The wood
button is a flat four-hole type (Figure 8-9c) that
could reasonably have been manufactured any
time in the last few centuries. The glass buttons
comprise 1 black hemispherical sew-through
with two holes (in two pieces, but mended to
one), the matching man-in-the-moon button
discussed above, and a pressed black glass
button with polished facets, a silver luster finish,
and a missing metal shank that was probably a
loop in an inset plate (Figure 8-10c). The plastic
button is 2.7 cm in diameter and has an attached
plastic loop shank. It is surface-dyed pink, but is
fading from the base up. The body of the button
is a creamy white, and although the material
melts when heat is applied, it does not release a
detectable odor. In accordance with the above
characteristics, the button has been tentatively
identified as casein and was therefore
manufactured some time after 1890.
Level 2 contained 6 white porcelain four-hole
buttons, 2 with a pie crust border. In addition,
there was 1 large black glass button (D = 3.1 cm)
with a faceted surface and a metal loop-shank
typical of those popular at the end of the 19th
century (Hughes and Lester 1981: 84, 85; Figure
8-10d). A lever-top collar stud was also found in
this level. Just one button was excavated from
level 3 in the open yard and it is a plain porcelain
one. Level 5 in Trench #2, however, yielded 1
metal and 1 shell button (neither remarkable), 2
white four-hole porcelain buttons, 1 porcelain
stud and 1 lever-top collar stud. Finally, 1 plain
white porcelain button with four holes was found
in level 10 of Trench #2.
Beads and Jewelry
A total of 17 objects were classified as beads
and 18 as jewelry. The two categories will be
discussed together because the distinction
between them is often very unclear. Beads, if
not sewn onto clothing, were usually elements in
pieces of jewelry in the 19th century (e.g., MW
1895: 84). In any case, both are decorative items.
The beads were classified by material and dated
accordingly. There are 9 glass beads or bead
fragments, 1 ivory bead, 5 porcelain beads, and 2
of unidentified material. The porcelain beads
have been given a beginning manufacture date
of 1840 in agreement with the date of
manufacture established for porcelain buttons.
None of the other materials can be dated with
any confidence.
The jewelry items were classified only by
object and not broken down into types. None of
the materials could be dated with any
confidence, and any temporal discussion is
based entirely on stylistic considerations. All of
the pieces of jewelry except for 2 gold or gold-
plated rings are costume jewelry made from
non-precious materials. It is difficult to discuss
style popularity of jewelry because most works
on jewelry deal with high-fashion designs using
precious metals and stones. The only source we
have for everyday or costume jewelry styles is
the mail-order catalogs. Many of the designs of
the excavated jewelry are consistent with those
popular at the end of the 19th century as
pictured in the mail-order catalogs (MW 1895:
166-175; SR 1897: 416^429). Particularly striking
are the round wreath-like brooches and
pendants and the linear bar pins set with stones.
Artifactual Summary
In Operation A, 12 of the 13 beads and 6 of the
11 pieces of jewelry came out of features. Three
jewelry items were found within the limits of the
tenement structure, and just 1 bead and 2 pieces
of jewelry were found out in the yard areas. By
contrast, a total of only 4 beads were uncovered
in Operation B — 1 within a feature and 3 in the
open yard — as well as just 4 pieces of jewelry, 3 of
which were out in the yard area and 1 within the
limits of the boardinghouse foundation. The 2
gold or gold-plated rings mentioned above were
recovered from Trench #3, levels 3 and 4. The
ring from level 3 was designed to hold a
gemstone and has 6 prongs for that purpose.
The band is wide at the top, narrowing toward
the bottom, with incised geometric designs on
either side of the stone area. The ring recovered
from level 4 is a plain gold wedding band
Lj^'^a
cm 1
Personal Effects 155
Figure 8-13. Celluloid pin-back button manufactured after 1893. The legend reads
"KISS ME [illegible] I'M STERILIZED" and may be related to the influenza epidemic of
1918. The button was found in level B of the privy in Operation A. (Photograph by
Richard S. Kanaski.)
approximately .5 cm wide and 1.2 cm in
diameter. Also excavated from level 3 of Trench
#3 was an oval decorative clothing stud or
cufflink set with a light blue stone (Figure 8-12).
Operation A
The feature with the greatest number of beads
and jewelry in Operation A was the cellar
(Feature 25). Level D yielded a natural colored
ivory bead and a light blue glass bead (in three
pieces) as well as a long rhinestone pin
fashioned in a floral motif and another,
unidentified, item of jewelry. Level B of Feature
45, the privy, yielded a single tiny orange glass
bead (D = .5 cm) as well as an interesting
celluloid pin in two pieces. The pin depicts a
man and a woman kissing and reads "KISS ME
[illegible] I'M STERILIZED." (Figure 8-13). The
drawing is rendered with very simple lines and
the effect is cartoonish. The costumes are
consistent with those of the Edwardian era in the
early 20th century inasmuch as the woman has
full hair softly styled on top of her head (de
Courtais 1973: 140), and the man has a very high,
stiff collar (Wilcox 1969: 82). In addition, there is
an object protruding from the woman's right
shoulder which may be a hypodermic needle.
One possible interpretation of the button that
was suggested by Lauren Cook is that it refers to
the flu epidemic of 1918.
Several lines of evidence render this
hypothesis tenable. 1) The context in which the
pin was found (Feature 45, level B) has been
firmly dated to after 1891 based on the pipe stem
data (Cook, this volume). 2) The pin, though
somewhat deteriorated, appears to be a pin-
back (Luscomb 1967: 152), or celluloid (Fischer
1988: 145) button of the type first patented in
1893 by Amanda M. Longee. Longee's design
was for a printed textile base mounted on a
metal backing or rim with a pin attachment and
covered with a thin sheet of transparent
celluloid. In 1896 the Whitehead and Hoag
Company acquired the patent for the celluloid
button with the print on paper — the same form
used for modern campaign buttons (Fischer
1988: 144). What remains of the "KISS ME..." pin
is just the celluloid film with the drawing
imprinted on the back. The edges are turned
over and crimped, and there are some traces of
corroded metal around the inside rim
suggesting that there was a metal ring
supporting the celluloid. The paper or fabric on
which the drawing was originally imprinted is
completely gone. 3) The flu epidemic was a
major concern in Massachusetts in 1918. Boston
was the site of the first outbreak of Spanish
influenza in the New World in the late summer
of 1918 (Crosby 1976: 39). The disease was first
noted on August 27 among the naval forces at
Commonwealth Pier and spread to the civilian
population of Boston by September (Crosby
1976: 39-40). By the end of September, Lowell
was also experiencing the effects of the
epidemic, having lost 32 people to influenza and
pneumonia. During the week of October 6-12,
1918, a high of 141 influenza-related deaths were
reported in Lowell (Crosby 1976: 60).
Furthermore, the disease tended to kill people in
the prime of life, most flu deaths occurring in the
21-29 year-old age range (Crosby 1976: 21)— the
156 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
"kissing" years, perhaps. 4) Vaccines, however
ineffectual, were available very soon after the
initial outbreak of influenza. In fact, one of the
earliest ("and probably best publicized")
vaccines was developed near Boston at the Tufts
Medical Center (Crosby 1976: 100). In
conclusion, the post-1891 archeological context
in which the button was found, the 1893 patent-
date for celluloid buttons, the omnipresence of
Spanish influzenza in Lowell in 1918, and the
availability of a "vaccine" are all lines of
evidence that support (or at least do not
contradict) the interpretation of the "KISS ME ...
I'M STERILIZED" button as connected to the
flu epidemic of 1918. If this interpretation is
correct, then Level B of Feature 45 must have
been deposited in 1918 or later. In any event, it
could not have been deposited before 1893 when
the celluloid button was first patented.
Another celluloid button was found in Feature
23 (level B), the entryway to the cellar. Although
the structure of the pin is intact, the design is
quite damaged and difficult to decipher. It
reads "KEEP SMILING" on two lines at the top,
"QUICK [illegible)" towards the bottom, and
'TAPIOCA" curving along the bottom edge.
This is probably a promotional button for a
brand of tapioca, but the manufacturer has not
been identified. In any case, its presence in level
B of Feature 23 dates that deposit to 1893 or
later.
A brick drain box (Feature 37) yielded 3 beads
in level B, one a translucent milky white sphere
that was slightly squashed and one a small
oblong light blue bead — both are made of glass.
The other bead is a dark blue round one,
probably also glass. Feature 44, a dark soil stain
leading out from the drain box, contained a dark
blue clothing bead with the remains of an iron
shank in level A, and 2 small, round sew-through
beads in level B — one light orange glass and one
light blue porcelain. One other bead was found
in level A of the ell foundation (Feature 33), a
round white sew-through made of glass. Finally,
Feature 38, where there was heavy brick rubble,
yielded a round brooch with an elaborate copper
alloy border functioning as a framing device
(Figure 8-14). Within the frame are the
remnants of a photograph (paper fiber and
photographic emulsion are evident although the
image is not visible) mounted on a metal
backing. The underside of the piece is heavily
corroded, but the remains of a pin clasp are
obvious.
Three items of jewelry were found within the
bounds of the tenement cellar foundation. In
level 1 there was a tiny blue clothing stud (D = .5
cm) with traces of a metal shank. Level 2
contained a brooch similar to the one found in
Feature 38 and an unidentified object. The
brooch is a circular piece of glass framed by a
braided copper alloy border measuring 3 cm in
diameter (Figure 8-14). The back of the border
has six flat metal prongs designed to hold
something against the glass. There is a dense
white substance adhering to the back of the
glass, some of which is underneath the prongs.
Under microscopic examination, the substance
appears to be fibrous, and may be paper. This
could be the remains of a photograph, but since
no photographic emulsion is in evidence, it
could alternatively be the remains of a painting
or drawing. The remnants of two ends of a pin
clasp are visible on the back of the object —
hence its identification as a brooch. The
unidentified object is also a circular piece of
glass, but with a plain, possibly graphite or
rubber frame. This may, in fact, not be a piece of
jewelry, but there is a trace of some sort of
attachment at one point along the edge
suggesting that it could have been part of a
pendant.
The only items found out in the yard area of
Operation A were the following: a copper alloy
straight decorative pin (L = 2.8 cm) possibly
painted black (in level 2); a dark blue sew-
through porcelain bead (also in level 2); and an
unidentified jewelry fragment fashioned in a
flower motif (in level 3). The pin is probably a
soft collar pin much like the ones advertized in
the 1922 Montgomery Ward catalog (MW 1922:
352). If this is a correct identification of the
object, then it may date level 2 of the tenement
yard to after 1908. Soft collars became available
sometime between 1908 and 1922 as they are not
listed in the Sears Roebuck catalog of 1908 (SR
1908: 973) nor are they listed in the catalogs of
the 1890s (MW 1895: 92; SR 1897: 219).
Operation B
Only 4 beads and 4 items of jewelry were
found behind the boardinghouse in Operation
B. The privy (Feature 61) contained just 1 oblong
bead that is white porcelain, in level 2. The 3
other beads came from the open yard area. All
are of the sew-through variety and spherical; 2 of
them are made of porcelain and are less than 1
cm in diameter — 1 is opaque green and the
other is dark blue or black. The other bead is
more interesting as it is larger than most of the
others (D = 1.8 cm), and is light green with what
appears to be a yellow trailed slip decoration
(except that the bead is glass). Only half of the
bead remains, but it must have been the
centerpiece of a string of beads. The jewelry
Personal Effects 157
Figure 8-14. Two brooches that probably framed photographs or miniatures. A)
Brooch with copper alloy frame and braided border found in level 2 behind the
tenement. A dense white substance that may be paper adheres to the back of the glass.
B) Brooch with copper alloy frame with elaborate border found in level 1 of Feature 38,
also behind the tenement. Remnants of paper fibers and Photographgraphic emulsion
are evident within the frame, suggesting that a photograph was mounted on this brooch
(scale in cm). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
*a«W*X*)^'*t "' '*&•»***».
Figure 8-15. Top and side view of rhinestone pin uncovered within the ell in level 1 of
the boardinghouse excavation (scale in cm). (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
158 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
from Operation B was all found in level 1 and
consists of 2 costume jewels (a "diamond" and
an "emerald") made of glass, 1 small white
porcelain object that could have been a clothing
stud, and a copper alloy linear rhinestone pin
(Figure 8-15) measuring 6.8 cm. The pin was set
with nine brilliants of varying sizes, the largest in
the center and the smallest at the ends. This was
probably a lace pin much like those advertized
in the Montgomery Ward catalog of 1895 (MW
1895: 174). The pin was found within the ell
whereas the other objects were found out in the
yard area.
Combs and Hair Ornaments
A variety of combs and hair ornaments were
found during the excavations at Lowell. These
include decorative combs (side and back),
straight combs and fine-tooth combs used in
grooming (Figure 8-16), hair pins, and barrettes.
A total of 43 items were included in this category,
but it must be kept in mind that 19 of these are
single teeth. The items in this category were
cataloged by material; 24 of them are plastic, 13
rubber, 3 metal, 2 tortoise shell, and 1 possibly
horn.
Before the 1920s when shorter hair styles came
into vogue, hair combs or other ornaments were
worn by most women to control their hair
(Haertig 1983: 28, 73). Early combs were made
from natural materials such as tortoise shell,
horn, or ivory. The process of vulcanization,
whereby rubber was hardened, was discovered
in 1839 and subsequently used in the
manufacture of such objects as buttons and
combs (Hughes and Lester 1981: 48; Haertig
1983: 62). The commercial production of
celluloid in 1869 had an even greater impact on
the comb industry, however, as plastic materials
could be made to resemble the much more
expensive tortoise shell. Hard rubber, by
contrast, has a dull black finish and is suited
more to utilitarian than decorative items, and is
accordingly found more often in the form of
straight combs and fine-tooth combs (i.e., combs
with thin teeth along both edges set very close
together).
Combs were both utilitarian and decorative.
In the 1860s elaborate combs studded with
jewels were popular and in keeping with the style
of attaching cascades of false hair to a chignon
at the back of the neck (Corson 1971: 477-484; de
Courtais 1973: 124). The back combs were used
as fasteners, and often had high, decorative
bridges. The 1870s and 1880s saw a decline in
the popularity of the chignon and false hair in
general, and the trend was towards sweeping the
hair up off the neck and holding it with a comb
or hair pins (Corson 1971: 488; de Courtais 1973:
124). In the last decade of the 19th century the
emphasis was on piling the hair on the top of the
head as opposed to at the back (Corson 1971:
494; de Courtais 1973: 134). Fancy back combs
were still popular, as can be seen in the mail-
order catalogs of the 1890s (SR 1897: 326, 435;
MW 1895: 182-183), but by the 20th century back
combs were lower and became more similar to
side combs (SR 1908: 1002; MW 1922: 349; SR
1936: 103; Haertig 1983: 49). Barrettes and hair
ornaments decorated with inset brilliants seem
to have become popular in the early 20th
century (SR 1908: 1002; MW 1922: 349), while hair
pins occur throughout. Straight combs and fine-
tooth combs stand separate from the other items
in this category inasmuch as they are purely
utilitarian and used for grooming, rather than
being worn in the hair for decorative purposes.
As such, they do not change stylistically over
time very much and are therefore less
diagnostic. Both kinds of combs appear in the
mail-order catalogs of the 1890s and the early
20th century (SR 1897: 326; MW 1895: 105-106;
SR 1908: 1003; MW 1922: 391).
Artifactual Summary
A total of 17 combs and hair ornaments were
recovered from Operation A. Twelve of these
were from within features, 4 out in the open yard,
and just 1 plastic tooth from inside the tenement
foundation. In Operation B, 24 combs and hair
ornaments were uncovered — 11 from features,
12 from the yard area, and again just 1 from the
boardinghouse area. In addition, a plastic
hairpin fragment was found in Trench #1, level 3,
and a tooth from a hard rubber comb in level 4.
Operation A
In Operation A, the privy (Feature 45) yielded
the greatest number of combs and hair
ornaments from its level B. There was 1 almost
complete plastic side comb measuring about 10
cm as well as a fragment of another plastic side
comb and a single tooth. In addition, a plastic
hair pin fragment was found as well as the top
portion, without any teeth, of what seems to be a
tortoise shell side comb.
The dark soil stain emanating from the drain
box (Feature 44) contained 3 comb teeth, a
rubber one and a plastic one in level B and a
metal one (possibly aluminum) in level C A
single plastic tooth was also excavated from
Feature 23, level D (cellar stairs), and one from
Feature 37, level B (the brick drain box). Level B
Personal Effects 159
jMfltU*
Hi
Figure 8-16. Some of the combs excavated fiom the backlots of the Boott Mills'
boardinghouse/tenement. A) Straight comb, possibly made of horn. B) Hard rubber
fine-tooth comb (see also Figure 8-18b). C) Side comb, possibly made of tortoise shell.
D) Hard rubber side or back comb, bent over so that the bridge will cover the hair where
the comb enters it (see also Figure 8-18a). E) Plastic side comb with decorative bridge.
Combs A-D were found in level 1 of the yard area behind the boardinghouse. Comb E
was excavated from level 9d of the well (Feature 2) in Trench #2, also behind the
boardinghouse. (Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
160 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
of the cellar (Feature 25) also yielded a plastic
comb tooth as well as a rectangular-shaped
plastic barrette inset with three rows of brilliants
along the top, middle, and bottom cross-pieces.
This barrette is very similar to one advertized in
the 1922 Montgomery Ward catalog as a
"Barrette of the newest style" (MW 1922: 349).
Not only do both barrettes have inset brilliants,
but they are of similar proportions and both
have a twisted tooth for holding the hair. If this
style was indeed new in 1922, then level B of the
cellar must date to after that time.
In the yard area of the tenement, fragments of
a rubber straight comb with a scalloped edge
and a plastic side comb were found in level 1.
The second level contained just 2 plastic teeth.
Operation B
The privy of the boardinghouse backlot
(Feature 61) was also the feature with the
greatest number of combs and hair ornaments.
Level 1 contained 3 plastic comb teeth (one
green-colored) and one rubber fine-tooth comb
fragment. In level 2 there was a fragment of a
plastic hair pin and a very heavily corroded
metal barrette. Two plastic side-comb
fragments came out of level B of Feature 65 (a
pit or planting hole), and 1 rubber tooth from
Feature 67. The well (Feature 2) yielded a nearly
complete plastic side comb measuring about
10.5 cm (Figure 8-16e) and a fragment of a
rubber straight comb from level 9d.
A hard rubber fine-tooth comb was found in
level 1 of the ell. Imprinted on it are the words
"I.R. Comb Co Good year's Patent May 6 1851"
establishing a firm beginning date of
manufacture. The comb is broken, but
assuming the imprint was originally centered,
the comb measured approximately 6.4 cm long
and 4 cm wide. Out in the yard, 11 items were
found in level 1. Included were 2 plastic teeth
and 2 rubber teeth, fragments of a plastic side
comb and a rubber straight comb, and part of
what appears to be a genuine tortoise shell side
comb (Figure 8-16c). In addition, there was a
small undecorated metal barrette (2.8 cm long),
oval in shape with a cotter pin clasp (Figure 8-17)
and the top portion of a probable horn straight
comb (Figure 8-16a). The design of the barrette
is similar to the barrettes advertized in the 1922
Montgomery Ward catalog (MW 1922: 349).
The identification of the comb as horn is based
on the fact that is has a soft, leather-like quality
and a visible fibrous texture, but when held up to
the light is transluscent with a mottled, tortoise
shell coloration. Of special note in this level are
two hard rubber combs with imprints — one is a
Figure 8-17. Front and back view of small oval
barrette with cotter pin clasp from level 1 of the
boardinghouse backlot (scale in cm).
(Photograph by Richard S. Kanaski.)
side or back comb and the other is a fine-tooth
comb. The side or back comb has a bent-over
bridge designed to cover the hair where the
comb enters it. A similar design is pictured in
the 1908 Sears Roebuck catalog (SR 1908: 1002)
and is actually labelled as a barrette: "Ever Tidy
Barrette, a clever invention for holding stray
back hairs." This description, coupled with the
fact that no such design appears in earlier
catalogs, may indicate that this kind of comb (or
"barrette") was new at the beginning of the
century. The imprint on the one excavated at
Lowell reads "I.R. Comb Co Goodyear's Patent
1849-51" (Figure 8-l8a). The fine-tooth comb
reads "EMPEROR"— this particular model has
not been located in the literature (Figure 8-1 8b),
but the design and the style of the imprint is
similar to the "Minerva" comb advertized in the
1922 Montgomery Ward catalog (MW 1922:
391). Perhaps the names on the combs were
intended to distinguish between men's and
women's combs. The "Emperor" comb
excavated from the boardinghouse backlot
measures 3 1/4 inches long by 1 5/8 inches wide.
By comparison, the "Minerva" comb pictured in
the 1922 Mongomery Ward catalog is much
larger, measuring 4 inches long by 2 1/2 inches
wide, and thus would be better suited to
women's longer hair. Finally, level 10 (in Trench
#2) in the yard area yielded a single fragment of
a rubber straight comb.
I.R.G0MBC2 GOODY £ARbPAUnMi .o«*»j ..
Personal Effects 161
A.
B.
0 10 20
SCALE 1:1
Figure 8-18. Two hard rubber combs with imprints. A) Side or back comb with bent
bridge (see also Figure 8-16d). B) Fine-tooth comb (see also Figure 8-16b). Both combs
were found in level 1 of the boardinghouse backlot. (Drawing by Leslie A. Mead.)
262 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 8-19. 1917 photograph of textile worker drawing-in, showing the use of hair
combs and hair pins to keep the hair up. Note also the beaded necklace. (Reproduced
courtesy of the Museum of American Textile History.)
Personal Effects 163
Figure 8-20. 1917 photograph of mill worker filling a shuttle, showing the use of a bar
pin on the front of her work smock. (Reproduced courtesy of the Museum of American
Textile History.)
164 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Leather
Artifactual Summary
Some fragmentary leather remains were
recovered from the Lowell excavations, very few
of which were diagnostic. Twenty-eight possible
shoe fragments and 10 possible shoelace
fragments are among the almost 150 leather
fragments found. Another 14 pieces are from
straps of some sort, some of which have holes
punched into them and are probably parts of
bridle or saddle straps. There is one piece of
leather cut in the shape of a 4-leaf clover that
was probably an applique of some sort, but to
what it was applied is unknown. The rest of the
leather fragments are unidentifiable either
because of their poor state of preservation, their
small size, or their lack of diagnostic detail. Only
the shoe and shoelace fragments will be dealt
with in any detail here.
Operation A
In Operation A 2 narrow strips of leather with
stitching holes were found in level F of the cellar
stairs (Feature 23) as well as one fragment from
the back of the heel that has square stitching
holes (in level A of the cellar stairs). The privy
(Feature 45) yielded a curved piece of leather,
probably from the back part of the shoe. Level B
of the privy yielded a complete sole and heel (in
2 pieces) of what was probably a woman's shoe
based on its small size and narrow width
(approximately 7.5 cm across the ball of the foot
and just 3.5 cm across the arch). The heel is of
stacked leather, almost 2 cm high, and its shape
is relatively straight, angling down slightly in the
back. Eight nails are visible in the heel area of
the sole, coming up from the heel. The toe is
neither pointed nor rounded, but somewhere in
between.
Two small leather fragments with rectangular
stitching holes were found on the cobble surface
(Feature 15) and 3 fragments of a shoe heel were
uncovered in level 3 of Feature 16. Just one
small fragment of a sole with stitching holes at
the edge was fourd in level 1 of the open yard
area, while 4 pieces of a small sole, probably to a
woman's shoe, were found in level 3. The
condition of this object is quite fragmentary and
no heel remains. The toe portion is broken off,
and again, the gender determination of this sole
is based on its size (7 cm across the ball of the
foot and 4 cm across the arch).
Operation B
The well excavated in Trench #2 of Operation
B (Feature 2) yielded several shoe remains. Six
shoelace fragments were found in level 9b, while
2 were excavated from level 9c along with 2 other
shoe fragments, both from the back of the shoe,
one with rectanglular stitching holes. Three flat
leather fragments with small holes along the
edges were found in level 2 of the privy (Feature
61) and are probably shoe parts. The rest of the
shoe remains from Operation B were found in
levels 1 and 2 of the open yard areas. A total of 4
sole fragments came out of level 1 — 2 have
round stitching holes around the edges and one
has a possible tack attached to it. In addition,
one very delicate fragment of a shoelace was
found in level 1. Level 2 yielded 4 leather
fragments with triangular stitching holes that are
probably shoe parts.
As can be seen from the above discussion,
very few of the leather finds are diagnostic, or
even clearly identifiable. The most that can be
said for many of them is that they probably
belong to some part of a shoe. The two most
complete objects, both probably soles to
women's shoes, came out of Operation A, but
only one retains the diagnostic parts of the
shoe — the heel and the toe. The softly rounded
toe of the sole from level B of the privy behind
the tenement is consistent with styles at the end
of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th
century. On the one hand, there was a
movement away from the harshly narrow-toed
shoes fashionable in the 1880s (Swan 1982: 51)
while on the other hand the square-toed shoes of
the 1890s were giving way to more feminine
shapes (The National Society of Colonial Dames
of America [hereafter NSCDA] 1986: 31). Still,
since the toe of the shoe from Lowell is not
extreme in shape, and since toe styles fluctuated
back and forth from pointed to square
throughout the 18th and 19th centuries (Swan
1982; NSCDA 1986), nothing definite can be said
about it. Much the same is true for the heel.
Stacked heels were available as early as the 18th
century (NSCDA 1986: 31), and the shape of the
heel is not very distinctive — it is neither high nor
low, nor is it wedged or flared. If this is indeed a
woman's shoe, the only thing that can be said
about it is that it is clearly not a high-fashion
design. The toe and heel are rather plain and
seemingly built for comfort, not style. The effect
is of a practical shoe, perhaps even a working
shoe.
Personal Effects 165
Textiles
Artifactual Summary
Almost 60 textile fragments (25 are actually
from one piece of cloth, badly disintegrating)
were recovered. One of these is a fiber lamp
wick, 6 are wool batting, 1 is probably oil cloth, 4
are ribbon fragments (3 of which came out of
Trench #1, level 3), 1 is possibly silk, 1 is wool, and
the rest are most likely cotton.
Operation A
Only 9 of the fragments came out of Operation
A: a piece of silk and a piece of cotton from
levels E and F, respectively, of the cellar stairs
(Feature 23); 2 fragments of unidentifiable
cotton cloth from level B of the privy (Feature
45); 2 pieces of brown coarse-weave cotton cloth
from level 1 of the yard; a piece of wool batting
from level 3 of the yard; and 2 cotton fragments
of indeterminable color from level 2 in the ell
area of the tenement.
Operation B
In Operation B, a single fragment of a dark
brown or black ribbon came out of level 9d of the
well (Feature 2) and five pieces of felt or woolen
batting were recovered from level 1 of the privy
(Feature 61). The rest of the fragments were
found in the open yard area. Level 1 yielded 5
fragments of cotton cloth, a piece of very densely
woven material that seems to be oil cloth, the
lamp wick, and 6 fragments of what looks like
brown wool cloth, some pieces with the selvage
edge intact. Level 2 contained a single fragment
of fine-weave, 2-color cotton cloth, and level 3
yielded just one piece of unidentified white
fabric. A herringbone-pattern weave fabric was
found in 25 pieces in level 5 of Trench #2, one of
the pieces with a rusted nail attached to it.
Although the state of preservation of most of
these textiles is poor, it is possible that further
analysis of the various materials and weaves
could yield interesting results. For instance, it
may be possible to determine if any of the
fabrics could have been manufactured at one of
the mills in Lowell, or, conversely, if any of them
were positively brought in from outside the city
(or even the country).
Discussion
A clear pattern of artifact distribution emerges
from the above descriptions. In absolute terms,
more artifacts related to personal adornment
were excavated from behind the boardinghouse
(Operation B) than from the tenement lot
(Operation A). Leaving aside the leather and
textiles which are more subject to preservation
bias, Operation A yielded 50 buttons and studs,
24 beads and pieces of jewelry, and 17 combs or
hair ornaments, while Operation B yielded 79, 8,
and 24 of each class of items respectively. Only
jewelry and beads occurred with greater
frequency in Operation A than in Operation B.
Perhaps more significant than these absolute
numbers is the fact that a much greater
percentage of each class of items was found in
the open yard areas (as opposed to within
features or within the building foundation areas)
of Operation B as compared with Operation A.
Hence, 71% (56) of the buttons and studs
excavated from the boardinghouse backlot
came from out in the open yard area compared
to just 26% (13) of the total from behind the
tenement. Of the beads and jewelry from
Operation B, 38% (3) of the total were found in
the yard area compared to 13% (also 3) from
Operation A. Finally, the yard of Operation B
yielded 50% (12) of the total number of combs
and hair ornaments excavated while the yard
area of Operation A contained only 24% (4) of the
total.
This pattern could simply be the result of the
fact that greater numbers of people resided in
the boardinghouse over the years. Nonetheless,
it points to the possibility that the yard of the
boardinghouse was not as neatly kept as the
yard of the tenement. Also, the fact that more
jewelry was found in the tenement excavation
than in the boardinghouse backlot may be
reflective of the higher socioeconomic status of
the tenement residents or simply of the fact that
women living there were not necessarily working
women (i.e., they could have been supervisors'
non-working wives).
This observation is not supported by the
button data, however. If the buttons (exclusive
of the studs) are divided into two classes, plain
(two- and four-hole white porcelains) and fancy
(all others, including pie-crusts, hobnails, and
banded varieties), it is clear that there is not a
great difference between the two operations. Of
the 45 buttons in Operation A, 35% (16) are fancy.
Similarly, of the 67 buttons found in Operation B,
34% (23) are fancy. These percentages suggest
that, at least in terms of buttons, the two
households operated on a similar level. It is
difficult to make a similar observation based on
the combs and hair ornaments since, as
discussed above, they functioned on both
utilitarian and decorative levels, and a division of
166 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
the assemblage into plain and fancy items would
be highly subjective.
What there is to be learned about clothing
and fashion at the Lowell boardinghouses and
tenements through an examination of the
personal artifacts is limited. The presence of
items of costume jewelry, some fancy pressed
glass buttons, a few beads, and some decorative
hair ornaments hint that the residents of the
boardinghouse and the tenement may have
made some concessions to fashion and
ornamentation. But the evidence for this is slim.
There are no well preserved textiles to inform us
about the quality of the residents' clothing, and
the one shoe fragment with identifiable
characteristics seems to be from a shoe
designed for work, not fashion. Furthermore, the
overwhelming majority of buttons are of the
plain white utlitarian variety — stark reminders
that we are looking at the material assemblage
of a group of working class people. These
buttons were popular on "wash frocks and other
utility dresses" (Albert 1941: 47) as well as being
used as regular shirt buttons. The combs and
hair pins, though decorative, were also utilitarian
in nature inasmuch as they served the practical
purpose of keeping the hair out of the workers'
faces (Figure 8-19). The jewelry is perhaps the
only truly non-utlitarian group of personal
artifacts found at the site, but even jewelry could
be found in the workplace (Figures 8-19, 8-20).
Perhaps the most eloquent testimony to the
quality of the material life enjoyed by the Boott
Mills' boardinghouse and tenement residents is
the relative absence of variety. There was a wide
range of goods available at the end of the 19th
century and a proliferation of materials used to
make them. As discussed above, fashion in hair
was elaborate, as were the ornaments available
to decorate the styles. Yet the combs and hair
pins found in the backlots of Lowell tend toward
the pedestrian. Similarly, the variety of
materials and styles available in buttons was
greater in the mid 19th century than it ever had
been (Epstein 1968: 49), yet 86 (71%) of all the
buttons and studs found at the site are made of
white porcelain, 73 of which (60% of the total) are
completely undecorated. There are not even
any of the painted or transfer-printed porcelain
buttons and studs that were popular from the
1860s on (Epstein 1968: 50).
It is interesting to note the gender affiliations
of the personal effects. Most of the artifacts
were probably used by women, including the two
shoe-sole fragments that were identified.
Certainly, the more decorative items can be
associated almost unequivocally with female
use. These would include the side and back
combs, the barrettes, the fancy buttons (with the
possible exception of the metal button with the
eagle motif), the beads, and of course the
jewelry.
By contrast, none of the personal effects can
be associated exclusively with male use. The
more utilitarian items such as the straight
combs, the fine-tooth combs, the plain white
buttons, and the studs were probably used by
both sexes. Straight combs and fine-tooth
combs were used for grooming — straight combs
to untangle the hair and fine-tooth combs to
remove dirt, dandruff, or lice. Most of the
straight combs advertized in the mail-order
catalogs of the 1890s and early 20th century (e.g.,
SR 1897: 326; SR 1908: 1003; MW 1922: 391) are
not distinguished by sex. There are, however,
some exceptions, most notably a narrow coarse-
and fine-tooth comb identified as a "barber's" or
"men's" comb and a coarse-tooth comb with a
handle labelled a "princess dressing comb," or
"for ladies." None of the straight combs
recovered from Lowell, however, can be
positively identified as either of these varieties,
and are most likely the unisex kind. The fine-
tooth combs are not identified in the mail-order
catalogs as male or female, but as discussed
above it is possible that the name imprinted on
them may have denoted gender affiliation.
The porcelain buttons were doubtless used on
clothing worn by both sexes, particularly after
the advent of the ladies' shirtwaist towards the
end of the 19th century. The shirtwaist,
essentially a man's shirt adapted to female use,
had a collar and cuffs and was buttoned down
the front to the waist (Wilcox 1969: 318). Figures
8-21 and 8-22 show the buttons in use on both
men's and women's clothing. Studs were also
used by both sexes. From the middle of the 18th
century they were used as cuff buttons by men,
and by the 1830s their use was extended to the
front of the shirt (i.e., to function as buttons do
today on a shirt front). Around 1860 the
separate collar came into everyday use, and a
stud was employed to fasten it to the shirt at the
front and /or back of the neck (Cunnington,
Cunnington, and Beard 1960: 207; e.g., MW 1895:
92). Studs were also used on men's vests as well
as on ladies' shirtwaists and collars (see, e.g.,
Figure 8-3, 4th stud from the right, bottom row),
the latter usually being made of porcelain with
handpainted designs (Luscomb 1967: 191) or
decorated with jewels. It is impossible to
distinguish among the different kinds of studs or
to which sex they belonged unless they bear
some distinctive decoration. None of the
porcelain studs excavated from the Lowell
backlots are decorated except for a few that have
Personal Effects 167
"^^^-j^Fu---
Figure 8-21. Women sitting on the back steps of a Homestead, Pennsylvania,
board inghouse ca. 1910, showing the use of plain white utilitarian buttons down the front
of the shirtwaist dress of the woman to the right in front. (Lewis Hine photograph
reproduced from Byington 1910.)
168 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
raised concentric rings on the wide base. Rose
and Santeford (1985: 98) identify similarly
decorated studs recovered from an Arkansas
cemetery as cuff studs, but this functional
attribution is doubtless a result of the location,
relative to the body, where the studs were found
within the burial.
Another research topic to which this
assemblage lends itself is a look at possible
patterns of consumer behavior among the
working class residents of these two units. As
discussed above, the pattern of artifact
distribution does not provide unequivocal
evidence for contrasting the material life of the
tenement and boardinghouse residents. Except
for absolute numbers of artifacts, and
differences in spatial distribution, the overall
quality of artifacts is very similar between the two
households. The emphasis on utilitarian items
has already been mentioned, but another,
related phenomenon can also be observed.
Many of the items excavated from Operations A
and B tend to be inexpensive substitutes for
more expensive materials. Black glass buttons
substitute for jet, plastic and rubber hair
ornaments for tortoise shell, paste for diamonds,
green glass for emeralds, and porcelain buttons
for shell.
The price differences between the real and the
imitation item were sometimes dramatic. For
instance, the 1895 Montgomery Ward catalog
lists "Agate Buttons, White and Colored" at 10
cents per 12 dozen. By contrast, four-hole pearl
buttons of the same size sold for 20 cents per
dozen. Even the "White Fancy Pearl Agates"
(pie-crust borders) were significantly less
expensive than the real pearl buttons, retailing
at 25 cents per 12 dozen for the same size (MW
1895: 85). The same catalog pictures fancy hair
ornaments and offers them in both real and
imitation tortoise shell. "Real Shell Side Combs"
are advertized at 48 cents per pair, the
"Imitation" at 10 cents per pair. Likewise, a pair
of "Fancy Top Shell Side Combs" went for 50
cents while a pair of the "Imitation" ones cost
only 20 cents (MW 1895: 183). The same pattern
can be detected in the Sears Roebuck catalog of
1897.
In conclusion, the material assemblage of
artifacts relating to personal clothing and
adornment excavated from the tenement and
boardinghouse backlots of the Boott Mills
probably poses more questions than it answers.
Some basic observations can be made
contrasting the two households; the yard area of
the tenement may have been maintained better
than the boardinghouse yard and the tenement
families may have spent more money on jewelry.
Yet the overwhelming truth about the two
assemblages is that they are more alike than
different, both emphasizing the practical and
inexpensive over the fashionable and precious.
The fact that many of the personal effects are
associated with women's use and almost none
exclusively with men's use probably says more
about gender consumer behavior than
demographics — the mill girl era was long over
when these deposits were laid down, and the
census research shows that both units were
mixed by the turn of the century (Bond 1987).
In the final analysis, however, the value of this
assemblage is as a comparative collection. To
accurately address any of the issues discussed
above would require an undertaking beyond the
scope of this report. Ideally, what is needed is to
contrast and compare the assemblage with
material from other kinds of households
occupied at the end of the 19th century. Only
then can we see how the material life of 19th-
century mill workers may have been different
from that of other classes of people. It is hoped
that, with this report, the data for such a
comparative analysis is now accessible.
Chapter 9
FAUNAL REMAINS FROM THE BOOTT MILLS BOARDINGHOUSES
by David B. Landon
Introduction
The initial historical research into food ways in
the Lowell boardinghouses was designed
primarily to provide a comprehensive
framework for the interpretation of faunal
remains recovered archeologically as part of the
Lowell Boott Mills project (Landon 1987).
General changes taking place during the 19th
century were described to help understand the
changing market system within the city of Lowell
itself. For the boardinghouses, a basic pattern of
food purchase and preparation was outlined,
and some basic expectations for boardinghouse
diet were formulated. The major emphasis of
this research was to look at the various
purchasing options of the boardinghouse
keepers and to develop a relative price structure
for the analysis of the meat purchasing patterns
represented by faunal remains.
The major focus of this chapter will be to use
this background as an interpretive basis for the
examination of the meat purchasing patterns of
the boardinghouse keepers. In addition, the
spatial distribution of the faunal material
recovered as well as its condition will be utilized
to gain insight into the conditions of daily life at
the boardinghouses. The material recovered
during the test excavations will also be included
in this discussion. The procedures used for the
analysis will be outlined to provide an
introduction to a general discussion of the
assemblage. The focus will then shift to an
examination of modifications to the bones with a
particular emphasis on rodent gnawing and
butchery. Finally, the emphasis will be on
interpreting the purchasing pattern represented
by the specific cuts of meat from which the
faunal remains were derived. Although the
faunal material to be discussed is from a
number of different boardinghouse units, the
small sample size, the short time period
represented, and the similar market options and
economic constraints of the units' residents all
support the analysis of the material as a single
assemblage.
Procedures
In terms of the excavation procedures, all
bone from the site was saved, and all the soil
excavated was passed through quarter-inch
mesh screen. No field conservation was carried
out for any of the faunal remains. All material
recovered was returned to the archeological
research laboratory at Boston University to
undergo analysis. The bones that were strong
enough were cleaned by dry brushing. All the
material was rebagged in clean storage bags and
placed in acid-free storage boxes to await
analysis.
During the analysis, the entire faunal sample
was sorted through three times. The
examination and analysis began while the bones
were first being numbered. While provenience
designations were being inked on the bones
(with the exception of the smallest fragments),
basic notes were taken about the group of bones
from each individual bag, which corresponded to
the provenience unit. This first observation of
the collection served as an introduction to the
range of materials present and the condition of
the faunal material. Since this was the only point
at which the material was actually physically
grouped by provenience, it offered an
opportunity for some preliminary observations
about the variability by unit in terms of gross
preservation and the quantity and quality of
materials recovered.
Once the bones were numbered, more
intensive sorting and identification began. At
this stage, each bone that could be identified as
a specific body part was bagged separately with
an information card. This was done to allow the
collection to be divided by class and body part.
Body parts that were difficult to identify to a
particular genus and species, such as ribs,
vertebrae, and long bone shaft fragments, were
bagged together (by provenience) with a single
card. Fragments that appeared to lack
diagnostic attributes and were difficult to
identify as a specific body part were also bagged
together by provenience and designated non-
identified (NID). The initial information
recorded on the cards included the site name,
provenience, element, taxon, and symmetry.
Identification was based on a variety of written
sources (Gustafson and Brown 1979; Olsen 1964,
1968; Schmid 1972; Sisson and Grossman 1953) as
well as comparative osteological material
provided through the laboratory of the Center
for Materials Research in Archaeology and
169
170 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Ethnography (CMRAE) and Boston University.
In addition to the categories already mentioned,
the state of epiphyseal fusion, degree of burning,
visible rodent or carnivore damage, butchery
marks, other modifications, and comments
(such as bone mends) were recorded at this
point. Five stages of bone burning were defined,
based on the fact that bone turns first grey then
white as it burns.
Stages Of Bone Burning
Stage 0
unburned
Stage 1
partially grey or black
Stage 2
totally grey or black
Stage 3
totally grey or black and
partially white
Stage 4
totally white
Since butchery was considered to be
important to the analysis of this faunal
assemblage, specific types of butchery marks
were defined.
Figure 9-1. Proximal view of a butchered cow
humerus showing striations left by a saw.
Butchery Marks
Scrape (SC) a straight mark on the bone that
does not significantly gouge the surface
Cut (CT) a straight mark on the bone that gouges
the surface
Chop (CH) a cut that removes a section of the
bone
Shear (SH) a chop that goes through a portion
of the bone leaving a straight edge
Saw (SW) a series of parallel striations
caused by a toothed cutting instrument (Figure 9-1)
Several things must be pointed out about the
categories of butchery marks. Only a saw
definitely implies the use of a different tool, as
the other types of butchery marks could
conceivably be made with a single tool applied
with differential skill or force. Further,
taphonomic processes could tend to skew the
pattern of butchery marks represented by
masking or removing evidence. Decomposition,
such as exfoliation, would tend to remove
smaller marks from the surface of the bone as it
destroyed the lamellar surface. As a result,
scrapes might be underrepresented.
Additionally, some saw marks might be recorded
as shears if the striations are not visible. It is also
possible for marks to be left on the bones which
appear to be, but are not, butchery marks, such
as scars from post-depositional movement or
even impact with a trowel during excavation. To
the extent that it was possible these factors were
taken into consideration. Bones with
questionable butchery marks were routinely
examined using an American Optical
Corporation #569 or Bausch and Lomb low
power stereo microscope.
In addition to recording visible butchery
marks for all the bone fragments, butchered
bones which appeared to represent a particular
cut of meat or a particular pattern of butchery
were illustrated on line drawings of the major
skeletal elements (Figures 9-6, 9-7, 9-8, and 9-9,
based loosely on Lyman 1977), and a select few
were photographed (Figure 9-10). The line
drawings used to record butchered portions of
bone were derived from ink tracings of
illustrations in atlases and books (Gustafson and
Brown 1979; Schmid 1972; Sisson and Grossman
1953, 4th edition). All the photographs illustrated
in this report were taken using a Polaroid MP-4
camera. The results of this analysis of butchery
will be presented in greater detail during the
discussion of the results.
The final stage of the analysis began once the
bones had been identified to class and body part
and the preliminary taxonomic assignments had
taken place. The sample was sorted through for
the final time one body part at a time. The
individual cards were numbered sequentially to
facilitate later entry of the information into a
database. All the attributes mentioned so far
were recorded by card number (see appended
catalogue). A number of other attributes were
also recorded. All of the faunal material
contained in a single bag was weighed to the
Zooarcheology 111
nearest 0.1 g using a Mettler P1000 or Ohaus
triple beam balance. Measurements of the
bones were also taken at this stage, based on von
den Dreisch (1976). There were few complete
bones in the sample so applicable
measurements of fragments were made
whenever possible. Final taxonomic
assignments were made and some of the more
difficult bones to identify (especially the rodents)
were taken to the Museum of Comparative
Zoology for comparison with identified
specimens. The age of the animals at their time
of death based on the state of epiphyseal fusion
and (in a single instance) tooth eruption was
recorded using information contained in Silver
(1963). Probably the most important activity at
this stage was the assignment of the bones that
could be identified as a specific body part, but
not to a particular genus, to size categories. This
was especially crucial for the long bone shaft
fragments, rib fragments, and vertebral
fragments, most of which could not be positively
identified. Much of this material was very
fragmentary and as a result, assignment to a
particular size category was based primarily on
the thickness of the cortical bone present as
opposed to the fragment's overall size. This is
important to point out because the size category
assignment is probably biased. Fragmentation
of a bone tends to make it smaller. As a result,
smaller size categories tend to be
overrepresented, while large categories would be
underrepresented. Further, it should be
remembered that the potential for size variation
in a population based on age, sex, or other
factors introduces a certain amount of overlap in
the size categories. As the sample was almost
entirely mammals, the size categories were used
exclusively for mammal bones.
sample by fragment count and almost 98% of the
sample by weight. Included also were a small
number of bird bones, as well as some shell
fragments from bivalves and two fish bones. The
286 unidentified mammal and bird bones
comprised 52.3% of the sample by fragment
count, but only 9.1% of the sample by weight.
This demonstrates quite clearly the very small
size of most of the bones that were not identified.
Identified mammal and bird bones, while
comprising only 41.9% of the total number of
fragments, made up over 90% of the sample by
weight. Though not without certain exceptions,
this suggests a relationship between the size of
the fragment and how easily it was identified. It
could also be suggested that some
preservational bias is visible, with the densest
bones having survived post-depositional
decomposition best and thus being more easily
identified.
Table 9-1. Basic quantification of
assemblage from the boardinghouses.
the faunal
Category
Unid. Mammal
Ident. Mammal*
Total Mammal
TNF* %
274 50.1
222 40.6
496 90.7
Weight (g)
146.3
1521.8
1668.1
%
8.6
89.2
97.7
Unidentified Bird
Identified
Total Bird
12 2.2
7 1.3
19 3.5
9.2
8.1
17.3
0.5
0.5
1.0
Unid. Pelecypoda
Unid. Pisces
Unid. Gastropoda
Totals
29 5.3
2 0.3
1 0.2
547 100.0
21.0
0.5
0.1
1707.0
1.2
.t
i
99.9
TNF is the total number of fragments.
t Identified at least as a body part of a specific size
category.
1<0.1%
Mammalian Size Categories
Size 1 small, rabbit size or smaller
Size 2 small/medium, rabbit size to medium dog
Size 3 medium, medium dog to medium pig
Size 4 medium/large, large pig to small cow
Size 5 large, average cow and larger
The Faunal Assemblage
The total faunal assemblage consisted of 547
fragments weighing 1707.0 grams (Table 9-1).
Mammal remains made up over 90% of the
The identified bones are broken down by
taxon or size classification and element in Table
9-2. Several things quickly become clear. To
start, only 68 fragments (12.4% of TNF) were
actually identified to the genus or probable (cf.)
genus level or better. The remaining 160 bone
fragments recorded in Table 9-2 were only
identified as a particular body part and assigned
to a certain size category. In part this can be
explained by looking at the last column in Table
9-2, which sums the bone fragments by body
part. Of the bones which could be identified as a
particular body part, 174 (31.8% of TNF, 76.3% of
fragments included in Table 9-2) were either
772 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 9-2. Fragment quantification by taxon or size classification and element.
Bone Element
long bone fragments
V
rP
,o
£
■&>
Co* ^
*
«0
skull fragment
mandible
upper teeth
1L
atlas
other cerv. vert,
thoracic vert,
lumbar vert,
uncertain vert.
scapula
humerus
" shaft
" distal
radius, proximal
" shaft
" distal
ulna
1L
1R
1L,1R
1L
1L
1L
1L
1L,1R
1R
2R
metacarpal
first phalanx
middle phalanx
uncertain phalanx
1L,1R
1
1R
innominate
illium
femur
" shaft
tibia, shaft
distal
fibula, distal
tarsals
metatarsal
1L
1R
2R
1R
1L,1R
1L,1R
rib fragments
" dorsal
ventral
1R
6R,1L
8
tibiotarsus
coracoid
sternum
1L
1L
1
TOTAL
15
15
Zooarcheology 1 73
Table 9-2. Fragment quantification by taxon or size classification and element,
continued.
Bone Element
& ff *
^
^
J
/
"5 ^^
A* *? ^
&0 it <»
<o
-9
A4* A* i~
ctf
c° -
skull fragment
mandible
upper teeth
atlas
other cerv. vert,
thoracic vert,
lumbar vert,
uncertain vert.
scapula
humerus
" shaft
" distal
radius, proximal
" shaft
" distal
ulna
metacarpal
first phalanx
middle phalanx
uncertain phalanx
innominate
illium
femur
" shaft
tibia, shaft
" distal
fibula, distal
tarsals
metatarsal
rib fragments
" dorsal
" ventral
1
2R,1L
1R
3R
2R
2R
1L,1R
-
-
-
1
2
.
-
-
-
4
-
-
-
-
1
_
2
_
_
3
-
-
-
-
3
.
3
1
-
8
-
-
1
1
2
17
8
4
1
30
_
2(1L)
1R
.
8
-
-
-
-
'2
.
.
-
-
2
-
-
-
-
2
1
1
1
2
-
1
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
2
1
2
_
1L
_
.
"
1
~
-
1
1
1
4
1
1
-
1
-
-
_
1
_
.
-
-
1L,1R
-
4
-
-
-
-
2
-
-
-
-
4
1
1
35(7L,1R)
1L,1R
5(2L)
43
-
2(1R)
-
-
10
-
-
-
1
9
long bone fragments
14
33
10
66
tibiotarsus
coracoid
sternum
TOTAL
14
32
90
18
19
228
174 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
•&J
hS 9
01 23456789 10
nam
Figure 9-2. Rat bones recovered during excavation at the boardinghouses. a, b) right
dentary, c) left humerus, d) right tibia and fibula, e) right innominate, f-h) right femora;
a,b,d,and e are probable black rat (Rattus rattus).
21*36789 10
Immuiliu
Figure 9-3. Size 3 femur showing extensive rodent gnawing caudal view.
Zooarcheology 1 75
vertebral, long bone shaft, or rib fragments.
These body parts are recognized as being
among the most difficult to identify, and some
researchers do not even include them in their
analysis (Davis 1987: 35). This type of body part
distribution adversely impacted the total
number of specific identifications which were
possible.
Only six species were identified, Bos taurus,
Sus scrofa, Ovis/Capra, Gallus gallus, Melegris
gallapavo, and Rattus rattus. With the
exception of the rat bones, all of these represent
standard domestic animals. The basic pattern of
species identified in the assemblage coincides
fairly well with historical documentation about
the types of meat consumed in the
boardinghouses with domestic animals
providing the bulk of the meat consumed
supplemented by smaller quantities of fish and
poultry (Landon 1987).
In terms of the number of bones actually
identified for each type of animal, represented
by the last row in Table 9-2, differential
identifiability seems to have played a large part
in the numerical differences visible. Fully 23 of
the 30 cow and probable cow bones are rib or
vertebral fragments. In this instance, the large
size and density of some of these fragments
contributed significantly to their survival and
identification. The very large number of size 3
rib and vertebral fragments are quite likely
dominated by pig and sheep/goat remains
which just could not be identified. Similarly, 5 of
the 9 pig and probable pig bones are
metacarpals, metatarsals or other tarsal bones.
In addition to the fact that the pig has a larger
number of metapodial bones, these bones are
quite dense (i.e., survive well) and are easily
identified. As a result, this tends to bias the
actual representation of the number of pig and
probable pig bones when compared to the other
taxa. In a general sense, it is best to look at not
just the number of fragments from each taxa,
but also at which body parts are represented and
the bones included in the different size
categories.
Only a very small number of bones gave any
clear indication of the age of the animal at the
time of death. The small sample size and the
lack of any clear patterns make it difficult to
formulate any meaningful generalizations. As a
result, the ages are reported only in the
appended catalogue.
Modifications
As Table 9-2 clearly points out, rat bones
(Rattus sp. and cf. rattus ) formed one of the
most significant components of the identified
fauna in the assemblage (Figure 9-2). It is
probably not surprising, therefore, that 79 bones
in the sample (14.4% of TNF) had characteristic
gnaw marks left by rodents (Figure 9-3). The
distribution of bones and bones with rodent
gnaw marks by grid square is shown in Figures
9-4 and 9-5. Almost all of the fragments
recovered, including the rat bones and the
bones with gnaw marks, are concentrated in the
various features of the backlots: the privies, ells,
drains, wells, and the bulkhead entry to one of
the boardinghouse basements. Faunal material
is distinctly absent from the open areas of the
backlots, suggesting a certain amount of
maintenance or refuse disposal in other areas.
The single largest concentration of rat bones, as
well as rodent-gnawn bones, was just inside of
the back wall of one of the units right at the point
where a bulkhead entry to the basement went
under the unit's exterior wall. Rats were
undoubtedly living in the boardinghouses as well
as other structures of the backlots and were
probably feeding on stored food as well as
discarded food refuse.
None of the bones showed any apparent
indication of carnivore damage. Only a small
number of bones had been burned, and those
that were burned were badly burned. In all
likelihood the small burned scraps of bone are
the result of pieces of bone being tossed into a
fire and later deposited in the backlot.
Table 9-3. Quantification of bone burning for the
boardinghouses.
Burn Stage
1
2
3
4
Total
Number
0
0
3
30
33 (6.0% of TNF)
The single most important type of
modification to the bones was that caused by
butchery. A total of 95 bones (17.4% of TNF) had
some type of butchery mark on them and 25
(4.6% of TNF) had more than one butchery mark.
More than three quarters of the butchery marks
were either shears or saw marks (see Table 9-4).
The large proportion of shear and saw marks
probably represent primary butchery, where the
major division of the carcass took place before
certain cuts of meat were purchased for
consumption in the boardinghouses.
276 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
H
<9q^
I BMBM Operalion A
«^! Brick
<^P Slooe
Soil Slain
* ON nw Unit Numb*' (NE Corner)
Figure 9-4. Plan of Operation A showing distribution of bone fragments and bones with
rodent damage. B-bone fragments, RD-rodent damage.
Zooarcheology 1 77
<? d »''
L; «•«
Figure 9-5. Plan of Operation B showing distribution of bone fragments and bones with
rodent damage. B-bone fragments, RD-rodent damage.
178 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 9-6. Butchered sections of Bos taurus and size 5 ribs from the boardinghouses.
All views shown are of right ribs, medial view. Shaded areas represent the portion
present. SW-saw, BK-break
Zooarcheology 1 79
sw,
Figure 9-7. Butchered sections of Bos taunts bones from the Boardinghouses. Shaded
areas represent the portion present. SW-saw, BK-break, Sh-shear. Not to scale, a, b)
Left humerus, volar view, c) Left humerus, lateral view, d) Right femur, plantar view,
e) Pelvis and sacrum, slightly ventral cranial view. Additional cut and chop on caudal
side.
180 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
sw
sw .
Figure 9-8. Butchered sections of Bos taurus and cf. Bos taurus bones from the
Boardinghouses. Shaded areas represent the portion present. SW-saw, SH- shear, CT-
cut, BK-break. Not to scale, a) Cervical vertebra, caudal view, b) Atlas, cranial view, c)
Thoracic vertebra, cranial view, d) Thoracic vertebra, right lateral view, e) Left scapula,
lateral view.
Zooarcheology 181
SC
sw
sw
Figure 9-9. Butchered sections of Sus scrofa and Ovis/Capra bones from the
boardinghouses. Shaded areas represent the portion present. SW-saw, SC-scrape, SH-
shear, BK-break. Unlabelled jagged lines represent breaks. Not to scale, a)
Ouis/Capra, left tibia, dorsal view, b) Ovis/Capra, left tibia, plantar view, c) Sus scrofa,
left radius and ulna, lateral view, d) cf. Sus scrofa, left scapula, lateral view, e)
Ovis/Capra, right scapula, lateral view.
182 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 9-4. Quanhficat
ion of butchery marks on the
boardinghouse bones.
Type of Mark
Number* %
Scrape (SC)
10 7.8
Cut (CD
14 10.8
Chop (CH)
1 0.8
Shears (SH)
57 44.2
Saw Marks (SW)
47 36.4
Total
129 100.0
•Multiple butchery marks on a single bone were all
recorded; only 95 bones (17.4% of TNF) actually had
butchery marks. Seventeen bones had two butchery
marks, seven had three butchery marks, and one had
four butchery marks.
The major purpose behind the concern with
recording butchery marks and butchered
portions of bone was to be able to make
correlations between the faunal elements
represented in the collection and specific cuts of
meat. In addition to recording individual marks,
some fragments which seemed to have been
butchered in a particular fashion were recorded
on line drawings of different skeletal elements
(Figures 9-6, 9-7, 9-8, and 9-9). The small
sample size makes it difficult to formulate any
generalizations about butchery or specific cuts
of meat, but certain features can be noted (see
Lyman 1979 for comparison of butchery
patterns). In Figure 9-6, three functionally
different manners of butchering the ribs seem
apparent. Figure 9-6g and h both include a
significant portion of the body of the rib with the
head, Figure 9-6b, c, d, and i all show a more
dorsal separation of the body of the rib from the
head, and Figure 9-6a, e, and f all show different
manners of apportioning the rib body. The three
humeri shown in Figure 9-7a, b, and c, all show
different ways of dividing the humerus. In this
figure, c and d both suggest the scale of the
boardinghouse food preparation, as each
derives from large roasts from the major limb
bones.
For the vertebrae represented in Figure 9-8a,
b, and c were all butchered in a slightly angled
dorsal-ventral manner, apparently to split the
vertebra. The single most common type of
patterned butchery was recorded for four
thoracic vertebrae and is represented by Figure
9-8d. In this case, a dorsal-ventral pattern of
butchery perpendicular to the vertebral column
seems to have been utilized to separate the
dorsal spine from the body of the vertebra.
Finally, Figure 9-9c and d are potentially related
butchery marks, as they would respectively be
the most proximal and distal divisions of a pig
carcass around a shoulder cut. Interestingly,
Figure 9-9d and e both show a similar cut of the
scapula across the neck above the glenoid even
though one example is from a pig and the other
a caprid. While these observations are based on
a very small sample, they do offer some insight
into butchery practices and seem to be
indicative of relatively regularized butchery
patterns.
Interpretation
The small size of this faunal sample makes
generalizations difficult to make and justify. In
terms of the overall dietary pattern at the
boardinghouses it offers no real conclusive
evidence. Domestic mammals seem to have
provided the bulk of meat, with almost negligible
quantities of fowl, fish or other seafood
represented. This probably relates not just to
dietary patterns, but also to the survival of faunal
material as well as the sampling procedures. In
all likelihood microfauna would be recovered
more extensively if flotation samples were
analyzed, and this might increase the quantity of
fish and other small animal bones. It is also
possible that the excavation emphasis on
horizontal expansion introduced sullegic biases,
perhaps missing richer faunal deposits buried,
purposely or otherwise, further beneath the
surface. The small sample size is probably
partially a result of the fact that trash was
collected from the boardinghouses. It remains
unclear what disposal decisions resulted in the
deposition of this material on the site or how this
might have biased the composition of the
sample.
One potentially informative avenue of
interpretation is to try to examine the fauna that
was recovered in terms of the purchasing
patterns of meat by correlating specific
elements with cuts of meat of documented price.
This has been attempted by a number of
different historical archeologists in different
fashions and with varying degrees of success
(Henn 1985; Lyman 1987; Schulz and Gust 1983).
Schulz and Gust (1983) compared the economic
rank (based on the cost per pound) of beef cuts
represented at a number of different
commercial and institutional establishments in
Sacramento, California. The major thrust of this
study was to correlate faunal remains with socio-
economic status. As Lyman has pointed out, the
concept of socio-economic status they were
using was ambiguous and of questionable utility
(1987: 59). Further, Lyman suggested that in
addition to focusing more explicitly on income
level (as opposed to socio-economic status), a
Zooarcheology 183
MM
Figure 9-10. Butchered portions of cow bones, a. left humerus, distal view. b. left
scapula, distal view. c. left illium, caudal view (rotated 90° counterclockwise). See also
Figure 9-7a, e and Figure 9-8e.
better measure of the "value" of a cut of meat
would be the cost-efficiency, or edible meat
yield per unit of money expended, which does
not necessarily correlate with the "value" of a cut
as represented by the cost (1987: 62). This seems
to be a legitimate suggestion, though not without
inherent problems. The interpretation of cost-
efficiency makes the implicit assumption that
the bones present in a sample were once
purchased with a given quantity of meat
attached to them, an assumption that is never
really addressed.
On a slightly broader level of criticism, both
Lyman and Schulz and Gust are misguided to
think that there is necessarily a correlation
between either socio-economic status or income
and the purchase of cuts of meat of a particular
price or cost-efficiency. To start with relative
economic rank, it must be recognized that price
(on which rank is based) is a function of
aggregate demand and supply. As a result,
there is no reason to believe that an individual
making purchases of meat necessarily values
the same cuts in the same manner. A large
number of other factors besides income could
strongly influence purchases including ethnicity
and personal preference. Similarly, income is
not necessarily correlated with the cost-
efficiency of meat purchased, especially if it is
defined solely on the basis of meat yield per unit
of money spent. For example, a small household
might make less "cost-efficient" purchases of
meat in order to obtain smaller portions, or
perhaps even for ease of preparation. In order
to avoid some of these problems it is necessary
to think of meat purchases in a slightly broader
framework. The market provides a range of
potential opportunities for purchases of different
prices. Within this framework, individuals make
their purchases based on their own value system
and the constraints imposed by their income. In
a sense the focus should be on looking at
purchasing patterns with the realization that
income is one of many possible factors that
could influence the pattern represented.
With the caveats mentioned above in mind,
the cuts of meat represented, their economic
rank, and possible cost-efficiency are
summarized in Table 9-5. Since none of the cuts
are represented by a very large number of
identified specimens, it seemed unnecessary to
try to quantify them by minimum numbers, as
some authors have suggested (e.g., Lyman 1987).
Several problems with this must be pointed
out. Identifiability has a very large impact on the
potential for interpretation. For example, the
thoracic vertebrae and the dorsal ribs could
come from either the relatively expensive and
cost-inefficient rib cut or from the less
expensive more cost efficient chuck cut
depending on their specific position in the
carcass, something very difficult to determine.
In addition, the large quantity of long bone shaft
fragments, rib fragments, and other bones
identified only to a size category would very
likely change the results if they were completely
identified. Some of the size 3 rib fragments
could easily be the remains of mutton chops, the
most expensive cut. These problems must be
kept in mind as the cuts that were identified are
discussed in more detail.
The initial historical research on
boardinghouse foodways suggested that the
need for economization in food purchases
strongly influenced the purchasing patterns of
the boardinghouse keepers (Landon 1987). The
184 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 9-5. Meat cuts represented,
economic rank, ' and
cost-efficiency
rankt for the boardinghouse bones.
Economic Cost-Efficiency
Body Part
Cut
N1SP
Rank Rank
Beef§
cranium
head?
1
9 »»tt
atlas, cervical vertebrae
neck
3
8
thoracic vertebrae
chuck/ rib
4
5/2 3/7
lumbar vertebrae
short loin
1
1 8
scapula
chuck
1
5 3
humerus
arm
3
6 5
distal radius
foreshank
1
9 6
illium
sirloin
1
2 9
femur shaft
round
1
3 4
dorsal rib
chuck/rib
8
5/2 3/7
ventral rib
short/cross rib
9tt
6 1
Porktt
tooth
head?
1
? (9)
humerus, scapula, radius
shoulder
3
7
tarsals, metapodials
feet
5
9
Mutton§§
scapula
forequarter
3
3
tibia
leg
2
2
phalanx, tarsal
foot /shank
4
? low
♦Sources: Landon 1987; Lyman 1987; Schulz and Gust 1983.
'Economic rank reflects the cost per pound as compared to other cuts of the same type of meat, with 1 being the
highest. Based on Landon 1987 and Schulz and Gust 1983.
tcost-efficiency rank is based on the amount of meat yield for different cuts based on spending the same amount of
money, with 1 being the highest. Derived from information in Lyman 1987.
^Includes fragments identified as Bos taurus, cf. Bos taurus, and Size Category 5.
t+8 of these fragments are very small, pointing out one problem with using NISP.
"Since cost-efficiency is meat yield per unit of expenditure the beef cuts without cost-efficiency ranks can be thought
of as follows: head - low yield, low cost and neck - moderate yield, low cost. No cost-efficiency ranks are avaiable
for pork cuts. Since cost-efficiency is meat yield per unit of expenditure the pork cuts can be thought of as follows:
head and feet - low yield, low cost and shoulder - high yield, moderately low cost. No cost-efficiency ranks are
available for mutton cuts. Since cost-efficiency is meat yield per unit of expenditure the mutton cuts can be thought of
as follows: forequarter - moderately high yield, moderately low cost; leg - high yield, moderately high cost; and
foot/shank - low yield, low cost.
ttlncludes fragments identified as Sus scrofa and cf. Sus scrofa.
SSlncludes fragments identified as Ovis/Capra and cf. Ovis/Capra.
livelihood of the keeper depended on meeting
expenses with the board fees which were paid,
and any residual was the keeper's profit. This
would provide a reasonably strong incentive to
economize in the purchase of food, including
meat. At the same time, there was a certain
pressure from the boarders to provide
acceptable fare. Historical accounts seem to
indicate that the quality of the food was not so
much at issue as the quantity (Landon 1987).
Taken together these features would suggest
that meat purchases should be dominated by
medium or lower price cuts that are medium to
highly cost-efficient.
A number of the cuts do seem to fit into this
pattern. Relatively inexpensive and very cost-
efficient cuts are represented by the short/cross
rib of beef and probably by the mutton
forequarter and pork shoulder as well. There are
also a number of middle price range cuts that
are of medium cost-efficiency, such as the beef
chuck, arm, and round. Leg of mutton would
probably also fall into this category as it is a
high-yield cut of relatively moderate price. At
the same time, however, the pattern of cuts
represented actually seems to be considerably
more eclectic and varied than might be
anticipated from the constraints described
above. For example, relatively expensive and
cost-inefficient cuts are represented by the beef
short loin, sirloin, and possibly the rib cut. At the
other end of the spectrum, some relatively
cheap cuts of uncertain or moderately low cost-
efficiency are also present, such as the pig and
sheep feet, beef neck and foreshank, and head
of beef and pig.
Zooarcheology 185
The sample is quite small and analysis of more
faunal material would unquestionably help in
the formulation of a better view of purchasing
patterns. It is also important to realize that the
relationship between the actual meat
purchasing pattern and the pattern of faunal
remains recovered is very tenuous as there are a
large number of factors that could cause a great
deal of variation between these two patterns.
Nonetheless, it does seem clear that the factors
that influenced the meat purchasing pattern
which resulted in these remains are more
complex and multifaceted than simply the
relative cost or cost-efficiency of particular cuts.
A variety of factors might have influenced the
purchasing patterns of the boardinghouse
keeper and it is even possible that the boarders
themselves might have had a significant say in
the choice of foods, a situation that has been
documented for some other boarding operations
(Byington 1910: 139).
Conclusions
Analysis of this faunal assemblage from the
Boott Mill's boardinghouses offers interesting
insight into several issues. The presence of a
large number of rat bones and a large number of
bones with evident rodent gnaw marks adds
some texture to the understanding of living
conditions in the boardinghouses. The bulk of
the meat diet was derived from domestic
animals and generally coincides with historical
documentation of boardinghouse diet. By
looking at the pattern of cuts of meat
represented, it becomes clear that a variety of
different cuts were being purchased, and that
they displayed a great deal of variation in their
relative price and cost-efficiency. This is
informative because it suggests some of the
complexity that went into decisions about food
purchase and food preparation in the
boardinghouses even within a context supplying
strong pressures for economization. Further, it
suggests that a worthwhile area for more
research would be to define in greater detail the
factors other than economic constraint that
influence food purchasing decisions of people in
19th-century Lowell.
186 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of life
Chapter 10
DESCRIPTIVE ANALYSIS OF TOBACCO-RELATED MATERIAL
FROM THE BOOTT MILLS BOARDINGHOUSES
by Lauren J. Cook
Introduction
In the discussion that follows, the clay pipe
fragments are divided into four categories: stem
fragments; mouthpieces; bowls and bowl
fragments; and heels. When the materials from
Operations A and B were compared, no
patterned differences could be discerned
between them, except that there was much more
material from Operation B. Expected
differences were in the age of the material (as
represented by the use of the country name
rather than the city name), in the percentage of
stem fragments with makers' marks, and in the
percentages of different mouthpiece treatments
between the two operations. Chi-square
statistics performed in these three areas
indicated that there was no significant difference
between the two operations. Therefore, to avoid
needless repetition, the collection is described
here as a unit. Where applicable, contexts of
particularly significant objects are given.
This chapter presents archeological
information on the boardinghouse tobacco-
related material as well as limited discussion of
its contribution to the archeology of the site. The
social implications of the material are discussed
in Chapter 11.
Nomenclature follows standard practices
among tobacco pipe researchers. Figure 10-1
illustrates the location of pipe features that are
discussed in the text. The plastic stems are
described using terms found in modern
tobacconists' literature (Weber 1965: 100-104).
In all cases, the orientation of all pipe
components is considered to be as if they were
on a pipe in the reader's mouth. For example,
the left side of the pipe would be on the smoker's
left, etc. (Figure 10—1 shows the left side of a
hypothetical pipe).
Stems (183)
Unmarked stems (88)
Eighty-eight unmarked stem fragments were
recovered during excavations at the
boardinghouses. This number does not include
unmarked mouthpiece fragments, which are
discussed separately below.
Marked Stems (95)
Thomas Davidson, Jr., and Company [1863-1910] (3)
Three stem fragments marked Davidson/
Glasgow were recovered — one from Trench 2
and two from Operation B (Figure 10-2). These
pipes were apparently manufactured by Thomas
Davidson, Jr., and Company, a Glasgow firm that
was in operation between 1863 and 1910 (Walker
1977: 1010-1011). The fact that all three of the
Davidson stems in the Boott Mills collection are
impressed Glasgow indicates that Davidson
pipes were reaching Lowell before 1891, but not
after that date. One of the fragments bears the
stamped mold number "345," which
corresponds to the "Light T.D." in Davidson's
line of pipe models (ATPM 1900: 43).
Duncan McDougall and Company [1847-1968] (51)
Four pipe stems marked McDougall/
GLASGOW were recovered, all from Trench 2 and
Operation B. One example, with embossed
cartouches around the names of the company
and city, bore a mold number, either "11" or
"111." On the basis of the list from the 1870s, this
pipe would be either an "H. C. African" or a
"Small Fairy" (McDougall and Co., n.d.; Figure
10-3).
Forty-three examples marked McDougall/
Scotland are present in the collection. The
latter stems were recovered from contexts across
the site, and assisted in dating the features in
which they were found to post-1 891 .Three stem
fragments could be attributed to the company,
but whether they bore the name of the city or the
country could not be determined. Mold
numbers on the McDougall stems included
"326," which was listed in 1900 as a 'Thin T.D."
(ATPM 1900: 14). The McDougall firm survived
into the late 1960s and was the last of the major
Glasgow pipe manufacturers to go out of
business.
William White and Son [1805-1955] (12)
Eight examples marked W. White/Glasgow
are present in the collection. Mold numbers on
these examples include "T78" (Figure 10-4) and
187
188 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
BOWL
FRONT
HEEL
STEM
MOUTHPIECE
Figure 10-1. The parts of a pipe.
Figure 10-2. "Davidson/Glasgow" pipestem fragment. Made by Thomas Davidson &
Co., Glasgow, 1863-1891.
Tobacco-Related Material 189
Figure 10-3. McDougall/Scotland pipe. Made by McDougall & Co., Glasgow.
Figure 10-4. "W. White/Glasgow" pipestem fragment. Made byWilliam White & Son,
Glasgow, 1805-1891.
190 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
"78W." Both of these are apparently variations
of mold number "78," which was described in
1900 as a "Small Plain T.D." (ATPM 1900: 19). In
all cases the numbers are apparently embossed.
One barely legible example with the mold
number "78" has a portion of the bowl intact.
The back of the bowl has the initials "TD"
impressed within raised circles. This particular
pipe had been subject to such heavy use that the
lettering was so worn as to be barely legible, and
the mouthpiece, a broken surface only 5.6 cm.
from the back of the bowl, shows very heavy
tooth-wear (Figure 10-5). Several of the
White/Glasgow fragments in the collection, with
the mold number "T78" also have embossed
numbers on the heels. One example reads
"1"/"G," and the other "l"/"9."
Three stem fragments marked W. WHITE/
Scotland were also recovered. One of these
bears the mold number "T78," indicating that
this pipe model was in production both before
and after 1891.
One stem fragment is attributable to the
company, but the name of the city or country is
missing. This fragment also is embossed with
the mold number "T78."
John Waldie and Company [1870-1929] (1)
A single fragment, marked "...DIE & Co."/
"GLA[SGOW]" was recovered from Operation
B. The names of company and city are bordered
by cartouches, with lozenges at the ends (Figure
10-6). The only known Glasgow pipe maker
whose surname ended in the letters DIE was
John Waldie (Walker 1977: 1029-1030).
GLASGOW stem fragments (2)
Two fragments with the manufacturer's name
missing, but with all or part of the word Glasgow
were present in the collection. In both cases, the
stem may originally have had the maker's name
on it. No mold numbers were present that might
have permitted even a provisional attribution of
these stem fragments to a particular
manufacturer.
SCOTLAND stem fragments (8)
Seven stem fragments had the name of their
country of manufacture — Scotland — on their
right sides, but had the name of the maker
broken off or missing. Two of these bore the
mold number "326." Although by 1900 most of
the Scottish pipe makers manufactured models
with this number, the evidence of the marked
pipes from this collection indicates that these
two examples were probably made by Duncan
McDougall and Company (see above), whose
model 326 was a 'Thin T.D." (ATPM 1900: 14).
One example was marked Scotland, but with
an illegible maker's mark or mold number on
the left side. The fact that the former was
impressed and the latter apparently embossed
indicates that the illegible portion was probably
a mold number.
Stem fragments with mold numbers (12)
A total of 12 stem fragments bore what
appeared to be mold numbers, without the
name of the maker or the place of manufacture.
Eight of these were marked "326" (two
embossed, six stamped or impressed). As
mentioned above, these are most likely to be
McDougall's 'Thin T.D." (ATPM 1900: 14).
Two fragments were embossed with variations
of "78" (one "T78," one "78S"). These are
apparently variations on William White's
"Small Plain T.D." (ATPM 1900: 19).
One stem fragment bore the impressed
number "111" on its left side, with the
beginnings of a "rope frame" immediately to its
left. Similar frames were used by the major
Scottish. pipe makers as decorative borders for
their names and the names of the cities in which
they were located (cf. Gallagher 1987: fig. 12:2,
13:6; Gallagher and Price 1987: fig.l).
German stem fragments (3)
Three pipe stems marked with all or part of
the country name GERMANY were recovered.
Two of these (T2/9d and 21 N 0W/1) had the
name impressed, probably imparted by the
mold with which they were made (Figure 10-7),
while the third (19N 2W/1) had the name
embossed in serif letters. In each case, the
country name was on the left side of the stem,
and none of the examples exhibited the maker's
name. One example (T2/9d) had a small portion
of the bowl left, with a cylindrical, peglike heel.
The fact that the country name is present, and in
English at that, indicates that these pipes were
made after 1891, for the export market.
Dutch stem fragment (1)
One stem fragment (T2b/9c) bore the
embossed lettering, GOUDA/HOLLAND, in serif
letters (Figure 10-8). Again, as with the German
stems mentioned above, the fact that the
country name is present in English indicates that
Tobacco-Related Material 191
Figure 10-5. William White & Son "Small Plain T.D." pipe fragment. This badly worn
example bears the mold number "78," and was smoked after the stem was broken off.
Figure 10-6. John Waldie & Co. pipestem fragment, made in Glasgow, 1870-1891.
192 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 10-7. German pipestem fragment, post-1891.
Figure 10-8. "Gouda /Holland" pipestem fragment, post-1891.
Tobacco-Related Material 193
this pipe was made after 1891 for the export
trade.
Boston stem fragment (1)
One embossed stem fragment reading "S.T.&
C."/ "BOSTON" was recovered from T4E/4
(Figure 10-9). This is apparently not a maker's
mark, as no maker with those initials is either
documented in the city directories or other
sources (Calver 1950: 289; Sudbury 1979: 165-
166). Rather, the mark was apparently that of
Stephen Tilton and Company, wholesale
tobacconists, who did business in Boston
between 1840 and 1904 (Boston City Directories).
Tilton apparently commissioned pipes with the
name of his company on them. McDougall of
Glasgow, for example, offered "pipes stamped
with name on bowl or stem 2d per gross extra" —
presumably the name of the person ordering
them (McDougall and Company n.d.). In the
case of the Tilton stem fragment, the source was
probably closer to home. The decorative border
around the lettering — three hollow circles,
connected by lines along the top and bottom —
resembles borders on pipes made by
Bannerman and Company of Montreal (e.g.,
Sudbury 1980a: 8). Bannerman made pipes in
Montreal between 1858 and 1907, and operated
an American factory, at Rouse's Point, New York,
between 1875 and 1884 (ibid.: 4-5). The Rouse's
Point factory apparently enabled Bannerman to
avoid paying duty on the products of his
Montreal factory.
The Tilton stem fragment was clearly made
between 1840 and 1904 — the documented
timespan of Tilton's company. The stem's
extremely large bore diameter— -6/64" — is of no
use in narrowing this date, as stem bores of
various sizes were in use at any given time
(Harrington 1954). If the pipe was made by
Bannerman, it would have to have been made
after 1858. Although it is tempting to point to the
quality of the lettering as indicating an early
date, the lettering on the post 1891
Gouda/Holland example described above is at
least as skillfully executed. Although a close
date for the stem fragment is not forthcoming,
its presence indicates that Tilton's wares,
presumably tobacco as well as pipes, were
traded to Lowell from Boston.
two dots, separated into horizontal registers by
embossed rings. At one end, the geometric
design is replaced by horizontal ribbing,
indicating that this example had a bowl that was
at least partially ribbed (Figure 10-10). Such
geometric designs are reminiscent of the
decorated stems of the French pipemaker Peter
Dorni, although no exact parallels to this design
are present either among Dorni's work, or that of
his many imitators (Cf. Omwake 1965: fig.le,f;
Reid 1976: fig.6:Sl). A similar, but not identical
example was excavated from the site of a
military barracks at Port Arthur, Tasmania Qack
1986: fig.5g).
Other marked stems (5)
One stem fragment is marked with "S..." on
the right side, so far forward that it is practically
on the bowl. The lettering is embossed, and is
too far forward to be part of the country name
(i.e., "Scotland"). ..The other four marked stems
are completely illegible through various
combinations of poor marking, worn markings,
and breakage.
Mouthpieces (48)
Forty-eight mouthpiece fragments are present
in the collection.1 These were catalogued
according to a classification scheme proposed
by Michael A. Pfeiffer (1978: Fig. Pi-1; 1982: 124-
125) after Cal Richie, modified of course to suit
the requirements of the present sample. Three
of the types defined by Pfeiffer are present in the
Boott Mills Boardinghouse collection; tapered
mouthpieces (Figure 10-11); flat mouthpieces,
on which the end appears rectilinear when
viewed from the side; lipped mouthpieces, which
have a lip on the end, enabling a better grip with
the teeth (Figure 10-12). Two mouthpiece types
that are not encompassed by Pfeiffer's typology
are present in the collection. The first of these
(represented by only one example) is a lipped
mouthpiece that has been flattened laterally in
front of the lip, ensuring that the pipe will face
upwards when the stem is gripped between the
teeth. The second type consists of "broken"
mouthpieces, where a portion of the stem has
been broken off, and the remaining portion used
as a mouthpiece. Unlike the other types, broken
Geometrically embossed stem fragment (1)
An interesting embossed stem fragment was
recovered from 2N 8W/3. The fragment, several
centimeters long, is decorated with a geometric
pattern consisting of alternating rows of one and
Five of these mouthpieces contain other more
important elements, such as bowls or maker's marks,
and are discussed at length and are counted elsewhere
in this chapter under those elements.
194 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
*«=^ "'•jr.- i ^-7,..VTTTtt.iXJlMi,l',lTaBJ^
Figure 10-9. "S.T.&C./Boston" pip>estem fragment, apparently produced for Stephen
Tilton & Co. of Boston, wholesale tobacconists, 1840-1904. Not to scale. (Drawing by
Lauren J. Cook.)
Figure 10-10. Geometrically embossed pipestem fragment.
Tobacco-Related Material 195
Figure 10-11. Tapered mouthpiece.
■ ■ *■ • < -
Figure 10-12. Lipped mouthpiece.
196 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 10-13. Broken mouthpiece showing tooth wear.
Figure 10-14. Whittled mouthpiece.
Tobacco-Related Material 197
Figure 10-15. Left, "Apple shape pipe bowl fragment, impressed "IF..." or "IR..." on bowl
back. Right, "Woodstock shape" pipe bowl, maker unknown.
Figure 10-16. "Home Rule" pipe bowl fragment. Maker unknown, but possibly R.
Bannerman, Rouse's Point, N.Y., or Thomas Davidson, Glasgow. Not to scale.
(Drawing by Lauren J. Cook.)
198 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 10-1. Modification of mouthpieces, all contexts.
Lipped/
Tapered
Flat
Lipped
Flattened
Broken
Total
Unmodified
17
8
2
1
»
28
Tooth wear
2
2
2
0
9
15
Grinding
0
0
0
0
3
3
Whittling &
Grinding
0
0
0
0
1
1
Whittling &
Tooth wear
0
0
0
0
1
1
Total
19
10
4
1
14
48
There were 195 unmodified broken stem fragments, but it is unreasonable to assume that any but a
small percentage of these ever functioned as mouthpieces.
mouthpieces are recognizable only when they
are modified by the smoker.
Several types of modifications were noted on
the mouthpieces in the collection. Sixteen
mouthpieces bore some evidence of tooth wear,
which in some cases was extreme (Figure 10-13).
Four examples gave indications of some form of
grinding, and two mouthpieces were carved or
whittled to provide a more satisfactory purchase
for the smoker's teeth or gums (Figure 10-14).
Nearly 60% of the mouthpieces in the collection
were unmodified. Table 10-1 shows the number
of mouthpieces of each type, and the ways in
which they were modified.
Mouthpiece modifications are significant
because they offer information on smoking
behavior. Tapered and flat mouthpieces tended
to occur on the popular "T.D." models (cf.
American Clay Pipe Works 1988: 16). The fact
that so few of the mouthpieces of this type in the
collection exhibit visible tooth wear indicates
that many of them were broken off before use.
This conclusion is supported by the relatively
large number of broken ends of stem fragments
that show either such wear, or more conscious
modification such as grinding or whittling.
These were the new mouthpieces that were
formed after the original ones were broken off.
The very small sample of more elaborately
finished lipped mouthpieces is problematic.
These were no doubt more likely to be applied
by the manufacturer to models that were
considered less likely to have their mouthpieces
broken off. It is possible that the several
examples of this type were from pipes that were
broken before seeing use, although it is
noteworthy that the American Clay Pipe Works
offered to supply "rubber sleeves" for such pipes
"at an advance of 25 cents per gross" over the
wholesale cost (American Clay Pipe Works 1988:
14). These were elastic bands that encircled the
mouthpiece above the lip, and that were
apparently intended to prevent the smoker's
teeth from touching the stem. These almost
certainly would have affected the degree of tooth
wear on mouthpieces, but it is not known
whether they were in common use.
The extent of modification on the
mouthpieces in the collection implies an active
preference for short clay pipes, to the extent that
pipes were broken off until they were sufficiently
short. The social and symbolic ramifications of
this behavior are discussed at length in Chapter
11.
Bowls
Undecorated bowl fragments (155)
Six of these fragments mend with one another,
to form two partial bowls. Two of the unmarked
bowl fragments in the collection have heels, also
unmarked.
"Woodstock" bowl fragments (3)
These fragments, which mend to form two
pipe bowls, are in the popular "Woodstock
shape." This shape is noted for thick-walled
bowls, and for thick stems, as the examples in
the collection show (Figure 10-15, right). These
pipes both have 7/64" bore diameters, which are
the widest in the collection, and it is very possible
that this type generally had wider diameters at
any given date than the range of diameters in
other styles.
TD Bowls (17)
Seventeen complete or nearly complete bowls,
with the letters TD marked on the back of the
Tobacco-Related Material 199
bowl, are present in the collection. One of these,
a W. White pipe, has the mold number 78 on it .
Any mold numbers that may have been present
on the other examples were broken off with the
stems. As mentioned above, W. White's model
78 was a "Small Plain T.D." (ATPM 1900: 19).
Unfortunately, none of the the rim on this pipe is
present, making measurement difficult. The
lettering on this example is impressed in raised
circles. The remaining 16 bowls have embossed
lettering.
Ten of these bowls have unmarked heels. The
heel of one example is marked with an
embossed horseshoe on each side. Another is
marked with an embossed design similar to a
quotation mark joined at the bottom, and a third
is marked with an embossed isosceles triangle.
The heels on the four remaining bowls are
broken off.
TD Bowl fragments (28)
Four of these fragments mend into one. There
are 14 "T"s, nine "D"s, and two "TD"s. One "T"
and one "D" are surrounded by a border of
radiating dashes, but these do not mend with
one another, and clearly represent two separate
pipes. There are therefore 18 separate TD pipes
represented in these fragments. Two of the "T"s
are impressed, while all of the other examples
are embossed.
"Home Rule" Bowls (2)
Two bowls that apparently bore the Irish
nationalist slogan "Home Rule" are present in
the collection. The first, and most complete of
these, is rouletted below the rim, with the
rouletting smeared at the rim as though hastily
done. An impressed oval on the back of the bowl
contains the partial words "...ME" and "...ULE"
one above the other (Figure 10-16). The second
example is nearly identical, except that all of the
inscription except the "...E" at the end of the
word "home" is missing.
Most of the major Scottish pipemakers made
"Home Rule" pipes, as did Bannerman's factory
at Rouses point, New York (ATPM 1900; Sudbury
1980a: 13). The examples in the collection bear
very strong resemblance to a catalogue
illustration of Thomas Davidson's model 174
("Home Rule"), in that the rouletting is below
the rim and the lettering is in an oval on the back
of the bowl (Gallagher and Price 1987: 132). The
Davidson pipe has a stem of about three inches
in length and no heel, while the Bannerman
examples have heels, and larger impressed
ovals and lettering than the pipes in the Lowell
collection (Sudbury 1979: Plate 6, numbers 3-4).
"Dhudeen" Bowls (2)
Two fragments of bowl backs that bore the
word "Dhudeen," the Gaelic term for a short
clay pipe, were recovered during the
excavations. The first of these is an entire bowl
back, with a bore diameter of 5/64", and the word
"DHUDEEN" impressed in a rectangle about 1
cm. below the rim (Figure 10-17). The letters
"DHU" fall to the left of the seam, while the
letters "deen" fall to the right of it. The pipe has
an unmarked heel, and appears to be unused.
The fabric may be tan clay, although rust stains
on part of the fragment indicate that it may have
become discolored in the ground. The second
example is a rim fragment, and is similar to the
first, although only "D...DEE..." is legible.
"Wolf Tone" Bowl (1)
Three fragments mend to form a single bowl
with the words "tone" on the left side, "ERIN" on
the right side (Figures 10-18, 10-19). Other
decoration includes shamrocks on both sides of
the bowl, and a wavy foliate decoration on the
seams. An illustrated example of a more
complete specimen recovered in Glasgow
indicates that the Lowell example originally bore
the legend "wolf"/ "98" /"TONE," in descending
order on its left side, and a harp on its right side
(Gallagher 1987: fig. 24). The pipe
commemorates the Irish patriot Wolf Tone, who
was captured and executed by the British in
1798 — it is a reasonable supposition that the
pipe was produced to mark the centennial of
Tone's death.
Nautical motif bowl fragments (2)
Two bowl fragments, which do not mend,
apparently depict nautical scenes. One of these
(Figure 10-20) is embossed with what appears to
be part of the hull of a warship or whaler with
gunports, waves, and the embossed letters
"...BIA." The other fragment shows a gaff-rigged
mainsail (or mizzen spanker) and topsail, of a
vessel that is clearly facing to the right. Although
the two fragments do not mend, the hull portions
on both are very similar, indicating that they
may be from the same model of pipe, or even
from different sides of the same pipe.
200 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 10-17. "Dhudeen" pipe bowl fragment, maker unknown.
Figure 10-18. "Wolf Tone" pipe bowl, side views. Not to scale. (Drawing by Lauren J.
Cook.)
Tobacco-Related Material 201
Figure 10-19. "Wolf Tone" pipe bowl, showing front seam.
Figure 10-20. Nautical motif pipe bowl fragment. Not to scale. (Drawing by Lauren J.
Cook.)
202 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Fluted bowl fragments (4)
Two rim fragments from fluted bowls were
recovered. One of these is a bowl front with a
poorly finished foliate front seam (Figure 10-21).
The interior of the bowl shows no signs of use.
Although no archeologically recovered
examples with both fluting and floral seams
have come to the author's attention, A Thomas
Davidson, Jr. & Co. catalogue illustrates two —
one as model number 2 ("R Head") and the
other as model number 248 ("C[arvedJ Hunter")
(Gallagher and Price 1987: figs. 17, 22; ATPM
1900: 34, 40). A second rim fragment does not
have the front seam present and shows evidence
of moderate to heavy use but is otherwise similar
to that described above.
A third fluted bowl fragment shows signs of
very heavy use, and contains tobacco remains.
Of the two flutes present on this fragment, the
one that was apparently closer to the front of the
bowl has been milled diagonally by hand after
the pipe was removed from the mold.
The final fluted example is a bowl base with a
broken heel Figure 10-22). The flutes are broad
and end about 1.6 cm. above the base. It would
appear that the fluting was interrupted partway
up the bowl and either continued to the rim after
the interruption, or was replaced by another
design. Partially fluted bowls are widely known
from the literature, and were made by major
export firms such as McDougal and Davidson
(see Gallagher 1987: fig.14, no. 14; Gallagher and
Price 1987: fig.22). The catalogue illustrations of
the Davidson examples indicate that they were
variations on model number 6, "Carved English"
(ATPM 1900: 34). It would appear that pipes with
fluted bowls fell within a more inclusive category
of "carved" pipes.
the Lowell collection is a red clay pipe bowl
recovered from Fort Custer, Montana, which is
almost exactly twice its size (Wilson 1971: fig.14).
Armorial bowl fragment (1)
One bowl rim fragment with an unidentified
seal as decoration was recovered. The fragment,
perhaps from the back of the bowl, has a
rouletted rim, with the upper portion of a seal
with a beaded rim, foliate decoration, and the
word "of" in the upper center (Figure 10-24).
Miscellaneous lettered bowl fragments (3)
Three fragments with partial lettered
inscriptions were recovered. The first of these is
a thick walled fragment showing heavy use,
apparently of a "bent," "billiard," or "apple"
shape (cf. Herment 1954:36; Weber 1962: 51;
Sherman 1970: 80-81). The left rear of the bowl
bears the impressed letters "IR..." or "IF..." in an
impressed rectangle which ends, of course at the
point where the lettering is broken off. The
rectangle is located approximately 1.1 cm. below
the rim (Figure 10-15, left).
A second fragment, badly burned after
discard, bears the embossed letter "...T" in an
impressed rectangle, about 0.5 cm. below the
rim. The fragment is apparently the left part of a
bowl back, but because of its small size and its
condition, it is difficult to be certain of this.
The third fragment in this category is a left
portion of a bowl back in an "apple" or "billiard"
shape with the impressed initial "H" or "w" in an
embossed circle with a diameter of 0.7 cm.,
located 0.8 cm. below the rim. This fragment
shows evidence of heavy use.
"Claw" bowl fragments (2)
Two mending terra cotta bowl fragments form
a partial bowl in the shape of a ball held by a
claw (Figure 10-23). This bowl is extremely
small, with the height of the extant portion at just
over 2 cm., and the diameter of the bowl at 1.3
cm. Both Davidson and McDougall in Glasgow
made "claw" pipes Gallagher and Price 1987:
figs. 7, 20; McDougall n.d.), but pipes with the
same motif are known to have been made
between 1864 and ca. 1874 in East Alton and
Wolfeboro, New Hampshire by a pipemaker
named John Taber (Watkins 1968: 134-135;
Sudbury 1979: 172-173). The boardinghouse
pipe is less ornate than catalogue illustrations of
the Davidson material, nor does it resemble
illustrated Taber material (Watkins 1968:
fig.85c). In fact the closest analog to the pipe in
Rouletted bowl rim fragment (1)
This fragment has rectangular rouletting
below the rim, which is smeared as it approaches
the rim. The rouletting is identical to that on the
"Home Rule" pipes described above (Figure 10-
15), although the fragment does not mend with
them.
Foliate embossed bowl rim fragment (1)
A single fragment bearing a foliate design in
high relief is present in the collection. The
design is similar but not identical to that on a
fragment recovered from Port Arthur Tasmania
(Jack 1986: fig.3i). The Lowell fragment appears
Tobacco-Related Material 203
Figure 10-21. Fluted pipe bowl fragment, showing foliate front seam.
Figure 10-22. Partially fluted pipe bowl base fragment.
204 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 10-23. Tcrra-cotta "claw" pipe bowl
fragment. Not to scale. (Drawing by Lauren J.
Cook.)
Figure 10-24. Armorial pipe bowl fragment, with
unidentified seal on bowl back.
Figure 10-25. Plastic pipe mouthpieces. Top, Operation A, feature 44, level B. Bottom, Operation B,
2ln8w, level 2.
Tobacco-Related Material 205
to consist of the front of the bowl, and shows no
signs of use.
indicating continued use. This stem appears to
be a "one-half curve" shape, and was used with a
bowl that had a shank-hole of about 0.85 cm.
Heels (4)
Four heels, which had broken off of bowls,
were recovered. None of these heels were
marked, and none of them matched any of the
bowls in the collection from which the heels had
been broken.
Bone Mouthpiece (1)
A fragment of what appears to be a lipped
bone mouthpiece was recovered from 8nl0w/2,
in Operation A (Figure 10-11, second from right).
This piece is very crudely made, apparently on a
lathe, and exhibits some hand-filing as well. The
bore is drilled, with a diameter of 6/64". There is
some apparent brown staining along the bore,
and there may be tooth-wear on the lip as well.
What kind of pipe this mouthpiece may have
been used with is not known, although its wide
circumference (nearly a centimeter) would tend
to make its use uncomfortable.
Cuspidor Fragments (2)
Two mending fragments of a redware
cuspidor, or spitoon, were recovered. The larger
fragment was recovered from trench 2, level 9b,
and the smaller fragment from Operation B,
feature 61, level 2. This vessel had a wide, flaring
lip with a diameter at the edge of 18 cm. The rim
sloped inward to a constriction of 10 cm. interior
diameter, about 3 cm. below the edge. The body
of the vessel bellied out below the
constriction. The interior of the vessel was glazed
with a dark brown lead glaze that begins below
the constriction. The surfaces of the exterior and
the interior of the rim are covered with a blue-
green substance that may be a copper-based
pigment used to decorate the vessel. The
exterior of the rim is molded in bas relief with a
repetitive pattern of scrolls. The fact that this
vessel was recovered from the boardinghouse
yard is a clear indication that at one point
chewing tobacco was in use at the
boardinghouse.
Plastic Mouthpieces (2)
Two plastic mouthpieces were recovered, one
from Feature 44, level b, in Operation A (Figure
10-25, top), and the other from 21n8w/2 in
Operation B (Figure 10-25. bottom). The two
stems, which would have been used in either a
clay (cf. American Clay Pipe Works 1988: 5, 8), a
brier, or less likely, a meerschaum bowl, are very
similar, but not identical. Both are of molded
amber-colored plastic, in bent shape, with
saddle bits and "wedge" bit orifices (see Weber
1965: 99-105 for terminology). Both joined to the
shank as push, or "stag" bits, and exhibit signs of
heavy use. Heated smoke has warped and
checked the plastic on those portions of the bits
that firt inside the shanks.
The example from Operation B is in fairly
good shape and was probably lost rather than
intentionally discarded. It appears to be a
"three-quarter curved" stem. It has prominent
seams, and was used in a bowl with a shank-hole
diameter of 0.8 cm. There is pronounced tooth-
wear on both the upper and lower surfaces
adjacent to the lip.
The example from feature 44 has the lip
broken off, after which the user filed it down and
smoked it until the stem wore through and
cracked. There is extensive tooth-wear on the
upper and lower surfaces near the broken end,
Pocket Calendar Fragment (1)
A single fragment of a blue plastic calendar
was recovered from above feature 9 in Trench 2
during preliminary testing (Figure 10-26). The
calendar was about 8 cm. in length, and had
been torn from top to bottom. The surviving
portion contained the following information,
above the calendar itself:
...GHER
Gorham St.,
...ASS.
...BACCO
The remaining portion of the calendar bears
dates for the period from September, 1895, to
February, 1896. Earlier dates were apparently
present on the fragment or fragments that were
not recovered. The calendar was probably
intentionally destroyed and discarded at some
point after February, 1896. Dating was possible
because the legend "1896" appears between
December and January, but a perpetual
calendar was used to verify that the remaining
legible dates occurred during 1895-1896.
Gorham Street begins several blocks to the
southeast of the Boott Mills Boardinghouses,
and is within convenient walking distance.
Research in the Lowell City Directories
published during the 1890s failed to disclose any
grocers or tobacconists with surnames ending in
206 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
tGHER,
GorhamSt.,
ACCO
T W
DEC
14
1229
721 25 JO 31
1 i
J 4 «? 7 8 »
10 il IX 13 14 15 •«
17 1* 10 V 2123
1 25 2 J7 2S29 10
I 2 3 4 5 «
8 9 10 II 12 13
lb 16 17 IA 2
21 ,,} 2b 2*2/ at
I 2
Figure 10-26. Blue plastic pocket calendar
fragment, 1895-1896. The business that
distributed this calendar has not yet been
identified.
"...gher" doing business on Gorham Street in
Lowell during that decade. The business in
question may have been located in a
neighboring community or nearby city with a
Gorham Street, or it may have referred to a
temporary business location that was not
entered in the directories. It is also possible that
the calendar was a misprint.
Archeological Implications of the Material
The most striking aspect of the clay pipes in
the collection is their late date. Although the
Binford pipe stem formula produced a date of
June, 1761, for the collection as a whole2, the fact
that this date is more than 60 years before the
city of Lowell was established indicates the well-
known dangers of using the formula on small
samples of material later than ca. 1780 (cf. Noel
Hume 1963: 22-23). Information derived using
other methods in this case provides much later
(and much more secure) dates. The practice for
much of the 19th century was to mark pipes with
the name of the city where they were
manufactured. The McKinley Tariff Act of 1891
required that all items imported to the United
States bear the name of the nation where they
were made, at which time pipe makers began
marking their pipes with the name of their
country. Until recently, pipes with "Scotland" as
the country of origin were known only from a few
sites in this hemisphere, while pipes marked
"Glasgow" and "Edinburgh" are ubiquitous. The
virtual absence of pipes marked "Scotland"
indicates that very few sites dating later than
1891 have been analyzed and published (Walker
1983: 13). Of the legible Scottish pipes in the
boardinghouse collection nearly 80% are marked
"Scotland." The immediate implication of this is
that much of the material in the collection was
manufactured — and hence used and
discarded — after 1891. By that time the very
presence of clay pipes would seem on the basis
of documentary evidence to indicate working-
class occupation.
Using the shift from "Glasgow" to "Scotland"
as providing a terminus post quern of 1891, it is
possible to assign dates to some of the features
encountered at the boardinghouses. Of 65
features encountered during the preliminary
testing and the excavation of Operations A and
B, 17 contained clay pipe material. Of these, 10
contained Scottish stem fragments marked with
the place of origin. Table 10-2 shows the feature
2The exact number, based on 276 stem fragments and
bowls, was 1761.4821.
Tobacco-Related Material 207
numbers, locations and brief descriptions of
those features that could be dated post-1891, on
the basis of their containing stem fragments
marked Scotland.
responsibility that occupants felt (or were held to
by the company) for the cleanliness of their
yards lie behind differential deposition and
maintenance of the two yards (cf. Beaudry 1989).
Table 10-2
. Post-
-1891 features.
H/Level
Operation
Locus
Feature Type
2/9b, c, d
B
Tr2
Well
6
B
Tr.2
Pipe trench
24
A
2N4W
Black lens/ stain
25/d
A
0-2N10W
Bulkhead entry
37/b
A
8N6W
Brick drainbox
44/c
A
6-8N6-8W
Drainbox trench
45/b
A
4N0-2E
Privy
61/2
B
17N0W
Privy
An examination of Table 10-2 indicates that
the bulk of the marked material in sealed
feature contexts was recovered from Operation
A. This is probably due in large part to the
differential stategies that were employed in
regard to the excavation of features between the
two operations. This issue is discussed more
fully in Chapter 5. Note that the dates derived
using this dating criterion are consistent with
those derived from other material for features 45
and 61 (both privies), which were apparently
filled in the second decade of this century. The
1891 terminus post quern for feature 25
(bulkhead entryway) is interesting. This feature
was sealed off from the cellar and filled in at
some point before the 1920s, when the structure
was demolished. It is clear from the pipe
materials in the feature that this occurred after
1891.
It was hoped that the pipe materials could
assist in dating contexts other than sealed
features, specifically the deposition of levels, in
the same way that they were useful in dating
features. Tables 10-3 and 10-4 show the
distribution of marked Scottish pipe stems in the
excavated levels in Operations A and B.
It is clear from Table 10-3 that the earlier, pre-
1891, marked Scottish material is concentrated
in level 1 of Operation B. By contrast, the post-
1891 material is distributed across the site, and
although most of it is in level 1, there is a fair
amount in level 2 as well. One possible
explanation for this difference between
distributions of earlier and later material
between operations may lie in the fact that
Operation A lies behind units that were
occupied as tenements for much of the period
during which the dwellings were occupied, while
Operation B was the boardinghouse yard. It is
likely that differences in both the frequency of
usage by tenants and the degree of
Table 10-3. Distribution of Scottish pipe stems marked
Glasgow by operation and level.
Operation A
Level 1
Level 2
Total
Operation B
Level 1
Level 2
Total
Site Totals
Level 1
Level 2
Total
Table 10-4. Distribution of Scottish pipe stems marked
Scotland by operation and level.
0
0.0
0
0.0
0
0.0
8
100.0
0
0.0
8
100.0
8
100.0
0
0.0
8
100.0
Operation A
Level 1
10
45.5
Level 2
2
9.1
Total
12
54.6
Operation B
Level 1
7
31.8
Level 2
3
13.6
Total
10
45.4
Site Totals
Level 1
17
77.3
Level 2
5
22.7
Total
22
100.0
Summary
Although the tobacco-related materials
recovered from the backlots of the Boott Mills
Boardinghouse fall too late for the application of
common quantitative dating methods such as
Harrington's histogram dating method, or
Binford's regression equation, the shift from the
use of the name of the city of manufacture to
that of the country of manufacture provides a
broad dating criterion. This enabled some eight
contexts at the site, five from Operation A and
three from within Operation B, to be assigned a
post-1891 date (see Table 10-2). In addition,
differences in distributions of pre-1891 pipes
between levels were observed between
operations, which may have resulted from
differential land use patterns in the two backlots.
208 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Chapter 11
TOBACCO-RELATED MATERIAL AND THE
CONSTRUCTION OF WORKING-CLASS CULTURE
by Lauren J. Cook
"Tell me what you smoke and 1 will
tell you who you are"
—Journal Pour Rire, 1851 ("Historicus" 1924)
Introduction
As recent research has shown, the degree to
which relationships among concepts and
ideologies can be demonstrated through the
archaeological record provides a fertile field of
study (Deetz 1974; Hodder 1982; Leone and
Potter 1988b). Such research draws on a
considerable body of work in material culture
studies and semiotics, which holds that artifacts
have meanings that may be read. Artifacts are
seen as concrete encapsulations of social
relationships — embodying the attitudes and
behaviors of the past:
The underlying premise [of material culture study]
is that objects made or modified by man reflect,
consciously or unconsciously, directly or indirectly,
the beliefs of the individuals who made,
commissioned, purchased, or used them and, by
extension, the beliefs of the larger society to which
they belonged. (Prown 1988: 19)
Problems of definition abound. Each of those
engaged in this type of research appears to have
a better idea where he or she stands in terms of
theory than of where others stand. Those who
look for meaning in the archaeological record
have their choice of a variety of theoretical
frameworks through which they can approach
the subject, including structuralism, cognitive
semiotics, economic theory, marxism, and
critical theory. With this theoretical
smorgasbord spread out before us, considerable
effort has gone into presenting these
approaches in all of their variety. Examples of
recent syntheses and edited volumes that
approach the issue of meaning in the
archaeological record include Hodder 1982,
1986, 1989; Leone 1986; and Leone and Potter
1988b. These techniques have been applied to
such diverse components of the material record
as architecture (Glassie 1975; Bourdieu 1977;
Leone 1977; Anderson and Moore 1988),
ceramics (Deetz 1974; Wall 1989; Burley 1989;
Yentsch n.d.b), formal gardens (Leone 1988a;
Leone et al. 1989), and cemeteries (McGuire
1988).
The present study examines the relationship
between a set of behaviors — those involved in
the use or consumption of tobacco — and their
effect on the archaeological record. The focus
here is on what tobacco behaviors and their
material components meant in 19th-century
culture. It is possible to approach those
meanings through the examination both of
documentary sources and artifacts, each of
which conveys meaning in different ways.
A number of factors influence tobacco
behavior. Primary among them are the social
class, ethnicity and gender of the actor, and it is
these three social divisions that I have used to
structure this essay. Other factors, such as the
situational contexts in which tobacco may be
used, the age of the user, and regional patterns
of use, are woven across the major threads of
class, ethnicity, and gender.
Style and Symbol
At this point it will be useful to discuss the
ways in which objects are used as symbols, and
how they function as such. In semiotic terms,
meaning is said to be signified by a particular
signifier (a word, a written character, an image,
or an object). This relationship between
representation and meaning — signifier and
signified, is known as a sign. For example, red
roses signify passion, and when used
intentionally to do so, they constitute a sign of
passion (Barthes 1957b: 197-198). A symbol is an
arbitrary sign, such as a red traffic signal — there
is no particular reason that a red traffic signal
should be a sign to stop, except that that
meaning has been assigned to it by society
(Hawkes 1977: 129). The function of the symbol
is one of linkage in the process of
communicating about the unknown by means of
the known (the symbol itself). That is, properties
assigned to the symbol by consensus may be
transferred by the observer to the situation in
which the symbol is employed. The symbol and
the symbolized are not seen as being in a static
cognitive relationship, but rather articulate with
209
210 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
one another as components of a shifting and
dynamic relationship (Turner 1974: 25-30).
Symbols are signs used in a communicative,
semiotic process. Objects often function as
symbols and have been approached semiotically
by scholars (Krampen 1979).
While particular objects and their symbolism
vary between cultures, the use of objects as
symbols is pan-cultural. Attempts on the part of
prehistorians to identify symbols and symbolic
domains in the material culture of pre-literate
populations (e.g., Shanks and Tilley 1982;
Shennan 1982), are predicated on the universal
role that the relationship between symbolic
action and object-symbols plays in social
interaction. Csiksentmihalyi and Rochberg-
Halton argue quite persuasively that our
interaction with certain categories of objects as
material entities is inextricable from our
interaction with them as symbols. The domestic
objects that clutter our living space may be
viewed as "meaningful only as part of a
communicative sign process and are active
ingredients of that process" (Csiksentmihalyi
and Rochberg-Halton 1981: 173). As symbols,
artifacts fix on their owners and users certain
culture-specific attributes — in effect, they serve
as "the visible part of culture," by "making firm
and visible a particular set of judgements in the
fluid processes of classifying persons and
events" (Douglas and Isherwood 1979: 66-67).
The use of material items in facilitating
judgement and classification is central to this
essay. Through it we can approach the ways in
which individuals constructed their cultural
identity.
The role of leisure activities, or those activities
that are not considered work, is important to self-
definition and self-expression. All of us spend
part of our time working and part of our time
doing other things. While the importance of
work in the process of self-definition is
undeniable, there is a considerable body of
literature supporting the contention that it is
through leisure, or at least non-work, activities
that the greater part of self-definition and self-
expression takes place (Pieper 1952; Huizinga
1970; Godbey 1981: 98, 123-125)— people "create
strong and complex selves by investing their
psychic energy in activities that are usually
called 'leisure' " (Csiksentmihalyi and
Rochberg-Halton 1981: 48). In a capitalist,
industrialized society the working class will not
control the means of production, but its
members will express themselves individually
and as a subculture through other components
of what Csiksentmihalyi and Rochberg-Halton
(1981: 49) call "the means of action." They define
the means of action as "any object or sign that
allows a person to 'make his self manifest,'"
(including, where applicable, the means of
production).
Social psychologists tell us that the process of
classifying others and assessing their intentions
and motives is a transitory, swift, and necessary
component of public interaction. Through a
staggering variety of signs (including objects),
gestures and postures, we communicate to those
with whom we interact, telling them who we are
and what we are doing:
Everyone knows of course, that the individual
necessarily provides a reading of himself when he
is in the presence of others. Gender, age, class, state
of health, ethnicity will all be conveyed, in the
main unwittingly. (Goffman 1971: 127)
Those social psychologists specializing in urban
interaction emphasize that these presentations
of self occur in the arena of the street (cf. Sennett
1978: 164-166). Lyn Lofland refers to this process
of classification of others as "appearential
ordering," a term that stresses both the
classificatory function of the activity and its
reliance on appearance as the criterion of
judgement. In such a "problematic world of
strangers," as the city,
all the city dweller had to go on, to know anything
at all about these other people, was the
information he could glean by looking at them... .
City life was made possible by an "ordering" of the
urban populace in terms of appearance and spatial
location such that those within the city could know
a great deal about one another by simply looking.
(Lofland 1973: 22)
The process of "decoding" the appearance of
others is based on the use of visible symbols
encoded primarily in forms of dress and other
bodily adornments (jewelry, hair styles, etc.) as
well as in behavior (Praetzcllis, Praetzellis, and
Brown 1987). The Victorian context was marked
by a "miniaturization" of visible symbols, in
which appearential ordering turned on the
smallest details of dress or appearance (Sennett
1978:165-168).
The power of material symbols to
communicate often lies in their use "out of
context" — that is in contexts other than those in
which the dominant cultural tradition would
apply them. An extreme example would be the
"Punk" usage of safety pins as earrings rather
than as fasteners. Such recycling of the
mundane in a symbolic context is informative to
the initiated (cf. Barthes 1981: 58).
The tensions between dominant and subordinate
groups can be found reflected in the surfaces of
subculture — in the styles of mundane objects which
have a double meaning. On the one hand, they
warn the 'straight' world in advance of a sinister
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 111
presence — the presence of difference — and draw
down upon themselves vague suspicions, uneasy
laughter, 'white and dumb rages.' On the other
hand, for those who erect them into icons, who use
them as words or curses, these objects become signs of
forbidden identity, sources of value. (Hebdige 1979:
2-3)
Style, then, communicates subculture, and is
instrumental in group definition and boundary
maintenance. Ethnic and class subcultures
wield style as an tool to identify those who
"belong," and occasionally as a weapon to annoy
those who do not.
The focus of analysis that follows is intended to
look beyond the distribution of material culture
as a function of wealth, or as a function of
differential access to resources. The purpose is
to build on the notion of "consumer choice" as it
has been used recently by archaeologists (e.g.,
Spencer-Wood 1987), and extend the
motivations that underlie choice to include
factors that are not strictly economic, and that
are not often easily quantifiable. The central
thesis is that material items have symbolic
meanings to those who use them, and that
through intentional (if not self-conscious)
manipulation of those items in social contexts,
those symbolic meanings are articulated and
communicated to others. Those meanings
include moral and aesthetic decisions.
Consumer choice is in large part a function of
the symbolism attached by the consumer to the
consumed. A purchased item is "consumed in
its image" as well as through usage (Barthes
1957a: 150). Differential choice is often a
reflection of different moral or aesthetic choices
on the part of consumers — that is of different
symbolic values being attached to objects (cf.
Miller 1987: 106-107). Members of different
social classes, different ethnic groups — different
subcultures — will choose different symbols in
the construction of social reality, and this will be
reflected, often alongside economic concerns,
in the material record (cf. Beaudry 1984b).
The definition of class favored here is E.P.
Thompson's, who argued that class is a historical
process that can be studied through the
"observation of behavior over time" (Thompson
1978: 147) — a relationship between people that
"must always be embodied in real people and in
a real context" (Thompson 1963: 9-10). Class
thus exists only when it is articulated. The
clearest examples of articulation are those
occasions when behaviors conflict — the resulting
"flashpoints," to use Gareth Stedman Jones'
term, are fertile areas for the study of class
relationships. But as Jones points out, looking
only at conflict distorts our view of class
relations — "it is as if the only records of the
bourgeoisie came from the bankruptcy courts,
and the only records of marriage from divorce
petitions" (Jones 1977: 163). This has resulted in
an overemphasis by scholars on efforts by the
bourgeoisie to change working class leisure
behavior, at the expense of the study of the
workers' resistance to change. Often resistance
was expressed through non-verbal behavior —
petty, everyday acts that may have been
patterned but were seldom part of a planned
program — and often it was at least partially
communicated through the medium of material
culture.
There is a wealth of documentary evidence on
tobacco use during the 19th and early 20th
centuries. Tobacco use is a form of behavior that
occurs in episodes, some of which are described
in the contemporary documentary record. In
some cases, the sources describe the
observations of a single episode, in other cases,
they summarize the collected experience of a
number of episodes. In all cases, they offer
information about the motivations of the
participants — what it is that they wish to
communicate by their behavior — and how they
do so. The sources testify to the biases and
motives of their writers as well. This information
is relevant to the beliefs and values of the society
at large.
If the manipulation of symbols in the
expression of the self is indeed so strongly
centered in behavior that occurs in non-work
contexts, then the stress on "leisure" and
"popular culture" in the writing of social
historians interested in the construction and
nature of working-class culture is
understandable.1 Equally important, the
implications for urban historical archaeology of
the industrial period are considerable. Because
of the increasing tendency to separate the
workplace and the household, the greater part of
the material that we recover and analyze relates
to household life, rather than to work (the
exception to this is of course traditional
industrial archaeology, where the means of
production is often under direct observation).
The archaeological record offers information
that is more specific than that in the
documentary record. The boardinghouse
materials are the results of individual episodes
that communicated specific meaning to actual
people. They are not as informative as the
documentary sources, but they have what Prown
calls "veracity" — as the less conscious products
^or example, Gutman 1973: inter alia; Thompson 1974;
Jones 1974: 476-480, 485-488; Jones 1977; Yeo and Yeo 1981;
Rosenzwdg 1983; Couvares 1984: 31-51; and Denning 1987.
212 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
of behavior, the artifacts are "potentially more
truthful" than the documentary sources (Prown
1988: 21). More important in the context of the
Boott Mills research, in examining working class
behavior we must remember that the
documentary sources communicate middle and
upper class assumptions — the only testimony
that we have from the working people
themselves in this case are the fragments of the
items that they purchased, modified, used, and
threw away. In combination with information on
kin networks and resistance to the social control
exercised by the company (Beaudry 1989: 28; see
also Bond, Chapters 3 and 5, this volume) the
artifacts can provide us with a clearer picture of
the construction of working-class culture.
"Power Pipes"?
Power is not a general system of domination exerted
by one group over another. Rather, power is
everywhere, produced at every moment in every
action. (Hodder 1986: 66, summarizing Foucault
19772)
An approach to class subcultures is essential
to historical archaeology — such a perspective
will permit an understanding of the ways in
which class divisions combined with ethnic and
gender differences to give pattern to past
material life. Such patterns arise both out of
differentials in wealth, and equally important,
different concepts of how class identity should
be mediated. As discussed above, mediation of
subcultural identity constitutes a discourse in
which both subcultures and majority cultures
engage. For this reason, theoretical stances that
ignore or downplay the richness of symbolic
interaction among and between members of all
classes will provide only incomplete
explanations of past processes and events. For
example, in a recent essay, Robert Paynter (1988)
presents some preliminary thoughts on an
"archaeology of capitalism". He makes many
valid points, among them that historical
archaeology must be informed by both world
and class perspectives. But by dismissing the
study of symbolic aspects of the past as
"idealist," he severely limits the scope of his
analysis (Paynter 1988: 408-409). Rather than
examining what Csiksentmihalyi and Rochberg-
Halton call the "means of action," Paynter's
analysis is confined to the much narrower means
of production. He concludes that change in
material culture (in the narrowly defined area of
manufacturing technology) is the result of
dSee also Foucault 1980: 141-142.
increasing mechanization spurred by a desire to
cut labor costs in the face of union demands.
This should be of considerable interest to
industrial archaeologists, but will be of limited
utility to researchers working on residential sites.
Inasmuch as class membership occurs both
within and outside of the workplace, class-based
models are as useful (or as necessary) for
interpreting the consumption of goods as they
are for interpreting their production.
Much of the documentary record reflects
opinions, desires, and omissions consciously or
unconsciously imparted to it by its authors. As
those authors were very often members of the
class or classes that either perceived themselves
as dominant in society, or wished to be
dominant, their views of class, society, and
commodity consumption must be approached
critically, as Mark Leone and others have
demonstrated (Leone, Potter, and Shackel 1987).
A critical approach alone is not, however,
enough. There is a strong temptation to limit
one's analysis to the classes that produce the
documentary record. They are after all the
groups whose symbolic universe and ideology
are most clearly reflected in the documents, and
whose homes are the most likely to be the
subject of research-oriented archaeological
programs. One danger in doing this is that in
concentrating on the lifeways of the literate and
propertied, it becomes all too easy to forget that
there were working-class people, and that it is
possible to approach their lives as well. If we can
do archaeology from the top down, we can do it
from the bottom up as well. This will require that
most documents be "scrutinized upside-down,"
as E.P. Thompson (1978: 157) recommends, and
that we continue to give priority to material
expressions, in order to focus on working class
motivations. We must do this if we are to
provide a balanced view of past life.
In a particularly well-published example of
class analysis of material culture outside the
workplace, Mark Leone and others at Historic
Annapolis, Inc., have explored the ideological
function of William Paca's garden (Leone 1984.
1986, 1987,1988a, 1988b; Leone et al. 1989). Paca
was a lawyer and jurist, a signer of the
Declaration of Independence, and the Governor
of Maryland from 1782 to 1785 — by any standard
of measurement, he was a member of that
state's economic and cultural elite (Malone 1946:
123-124). Analysis of Paca's reconstructed
formal garden has centered around the
symbolism of power over nature, as a metaphor
for power relations in society. In a critique of the
role of ideology in the work of Marxian
archaeologists, Ian Hodder (1986: 61-70) uses
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 213
Leone's research on the Paca Garden to
illustrate four problems in the treatment of
ideology :
1. "There is no indication anywhere that the same
material culture may have different meanings and
different ideological effects for different social
groups" (Hodder 1986: 65). The assumption is that
all of Annapolis shared Paca's view of the garden.
2. There is a tendency to oppose social reality and
ideology, with the latter falsifying, "naturalizing
or masking inequalities in the social order"
(Hodder 1986 65). Rather than obscuring Paca's
elite status, his garden would appear instead to
emphasize it.
3. Insufficient attention is paid to the specific
historical context in which the garden is supposed
to have served its ideological function.
4. The linkage between the functions of ideologies
and their purported products is not well drawn.
"One is left with the question, where does the
particular ideology. ..come from?" (Hodder 1986:
69). For example, the principles of perspective
that Leone sees as serving the social function of
legitimating Paca's dominant position in society
are within a historical tradition of landscape
construction that can ultimately be traced back to
the Classical world. These concepts of order may
have played a role in creating Paca's aspirations,
as much as they were a tool for realizing them.
These problems with the treatment of ideology
have important implications for an archaeology
of social class. In regard to the first problem, one
of the most disconcerting features of analyses of
Paca's garden is their treatment of the role of
ideology in class relations. They rely on the
"Dominant Ideology Thesis," drawn from Louis
Althusser's (1971) essay on the function of
ideology on the state level, which holds that the
ideologies of the dominant groups in society are
imposed on submissive groups. This thesis
denies subordinate groups the ability to
formulate their own ideologies and has been
found to be subject to many exceptions when
measured against historical situations
(Abercrombie et al. 1980; Miller 1987: 162-163;
McGuire 1988: 439-440; Rojek 1989: 100-101).
The result is a "trickle down" model of
relationships between the classes, a model that
tends to deny the very existence of a working-
class culture.
The problem seems to be that Leone's
analyses have examined only Paca and his
activities and motivations, ignoring those of the
"ruled." For example, if we assume an
ideological content for Paca's garden, why not
for every other garden, formal or otherwise, in
Annapolis. The consideration of common
dooryard gardens and their symbolism would be
much more relevant to the material lives of most
Annapolitans. All gardens may be considered to
be "power gardens" (cf. Leone et al. 1989), in that
they manipulate the environment toward a
social end — in this sense, most if not all artifacts
are powerful. But we must be careful not to
equate the powers of artifacts with the power of
their owners or users.
Hodder's critique of Leone's treatment of the
specific historical context of the garden may
arise from the fact that Leone's analyses have
never been published in the form of a report or
monograph, but exist instead as journal articles
emphasizing different aspects of his argument.
When a final report is produced, it will no doubt
present much information of the kind that
Hodder felt was lacking, as well as empirical
data on Paca's garden and the other Annapolis
gardens that Leone has discussed. Certainly one
context of the garden that must be considered in
depth is that of Paca's family status. As the
garden was built in about 1765 (Leone 1987: 615),
within a few years of Paca's 1763 marriage to
Mary Chew, whose family possessed "a very
considerable fortune" (Maryland Gazette, June
2, 1763, quoted in Malone 1946: 123), the garden
may be as much a function of power
relationships within the Paca household as
outside it. Family relationships may be
particularly significant, as analysis of formal
gardens elsewhere in the Middle Atlantic region
indicates that they may have served a symbolic
role as a metaphor for the growth of families
over generations (e.g., Yentsch et al. 1987: 24-
25) — and as there is fairly conclusive evidence
that horticultural pursuits were within the
"women's sphere" in 18th-century domestic life
(Weber 1989). In any case, there is no need to
assume that gardens, or other artifacts, are
capable of serving only one symbolic function,
and a good deal of reason to assume that they
can mediate a variety of meanings, often
simultaneously.
It is clear that the "Dominant Ideology
Thesis" implies a degree of social control on the
part of elites that makes it particularly
unsuitable as a model for class relationships in
developed, industrialized societies. What is
needed is a class-based model of relationships
within and between subcultures that is flexible
enough to account for the accommodations of
interest that in fact occur among and between
social classes and ethnic groups (and that can be
demonstrated to have occurred in the historical
past). One framework that appears to have the
potential to subsume complex processes of
cultural change involving class, ethnic and
gender groups has been used extensively by
British students of popular culture (e.g., Bennett
214 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
et al. 1981, 1986; Hargreaves 1989). This is the
notion of "cultural hegemony," adapted from
the work of the Italian marxist, Antonio Gramsci.
Gramsci was expressly concerned with the
tendency of "scientific" marxism to view
ideology as a passive reflection of an economic
substructure, rather than as a "real" entity,
active in its own right. According to Gramsci,
members of social classes put forth competing
ideologies, centered around what they perceive
to be their own interests. Class relationships
consist of the negotiation of these ideologies in
the cultural arena. Symbols may be adopted
and manipulated by the members of different
groups, in a process through which each group
"seeks to negotiate opposing class cultures onto
a cultural and ideological terrain which wins for
it a position of leadership" (Bennett 1986: xv).
"Hegemony," then, is an ever-shifting
"prevailing consciousness," negotiated among
interest groups, that is internalized or accepted
to varying degrees by members of those groups
(Boggs 1976: 39). Raymond Williams (1977: 110)
sees hegemony as transcending what is
traditionally defined as ideology, to include
experience as well:
It [hegemony] is a whole body of practices and
expectations, over the whole of living: our senses
and assignments of energy, our shaping perceptions
of ourselves and our world. It is a lived system of
meanings and values — constitutive and
constituting — which as they are experienced as
practices appear as reciprocally confirming. It thus
constitutes a sense of reality for most people in the
society, a sense of absolute because experienced
reality beyond which it is very difficult for most
members of the society to move, in most areas of
their lives. It is, that is to say, a 'culture,' but a
culture which has also to be seen as the lived
dominance and subordination of particular classes.
Discussions of "lived" hegemonies, then, must
involve detailed examination of the historical
contexts in which they arose and operated.
A model based on cultural hegemony rather
than dominant ideology has several advantages.
First, it does not equate economic or political
domination with social or cultural domination.
For example, while elites may control much of
the economic and political structures, it may be
the bourgeoisie that has the most influence on
the prevailing consciousness. Second, cultural
hegemony is seen as based on control through
consensus rather than coercion. This requires
consideration of the accommodations reached
by parallel, or even opposing, interests, as well as
the equally important areas of conflict that are
more easily and more often studied (Jones 1977:
163). Third, and most important, hegemony is
not seen as ever being complete (Boggs 1976:
40). Initiatives and contributions emerge that
are alternate and oppositional to existing
hegemonies, although usually framed in the
same terms of discourse, and some of these may
be negotiated into hegemonic positions
(Williams 1977: 114). Thus, contributions from
the working classes may find acceptance, or at
least toleration, by the bourgeoisie and elites.
This allows working-class ideology and working-
class culture creative, active roles in the social
process, rather than viewing them as dictated by
and distilled from the ideologies and cultures of
politically or economically dominant groups.
The idea of cultural hegemony is fully
compatible with the communication-centered
model for material culture that was outlined
above, and therein lies its usefulness to
archaeology. An important dimension of
material culture is its communicative function,
and much of that function takes place in the
day-to-day negotiation of hegemony. The 18th-
century merchant with his matching dishes and
symmetrical house and grounds and the 20th-
century "punk" with his safety pins and
engineer's boots are equally involved in those
negotiations, and much of what is recovered
archaeologically may be seen as the product of
hegemonic discourse, intentional or otherwise.
In fact we may see the range of items available
at any given time, with their varying moral and
symbolic values, as extensions of contemporary
hegemony — or even as a "material hegemony"
that is every bit as shifting and fluid through
time as is cultural hegemony.
A class-based archaeology based on cultural
hegemony permits us to interpret our material
in its communicative and symbolic aspects, and
opens up new avenues for inquiry. For example,
if Gcorgianization was the cultural contribution
of the merchant class during the 18th century, as
several archaeologists have recently proposed
(Leone 1988b; Harrington 1989), then it may be
viewed as an element in hegemonic discourse.
While we could simply note that
Gcorgianization occurs fairly universally across
that class, it would be much more interesting
and informative to go beyond this normative
viewpoint to examine the ways in which other
classes and cultural groups adopted, changed, or
rejected the Georgian world-view and its
associated material culture — to examine where
Gcorgianization came from, how it became
hegemonic in the 18th century, what it meant
and how those meanings changed over time,
how and by what it was superseded in the
hegemony, when and why it re-entered the
hegemony in "revivals," and what remains of it
today.
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 215
The present study will view tobacco use as an
element of hegemonic discourse between
classes and ethnic groups, as well as between
men and women. The focus is on the 19th and
early 20th centuries, although both earlier and
later tobacco use is both interesting and
relevant. While tobacco use may seem a minor
area in which to approach major issues of class
relations, those relations penetrated daily life
and were interwoven with its threads. Class
provided, and provides, contours for the surfaces
of everyday activities and interactions, such that
its operation may be seen in the most mundane
and trivial actions.
The episodes of tobacco use that are found in
the historical record are analysed along three
major dimensions (after Mercer 1986: 54, who
modified the procedure from Foucault 1972: 50-
55). The first of these is the site of use — the
position, in space, in time and in social context,
in which the episode occurs. The second
dimension considered is that of the status of the
event — who the actors are, and their relative
positions in structures of authority. Finally, the
subjectivities of the behavior — the meanings
that are conveyed — are considered wherever
they are accessible.
The material record, or at least that portion of
it that came from the backlots of what were once
the James Street boardinghouses, is viewed as
part of a hegemonic discourse that has much to
tell us that is not illuminated by the
documentary record, as well as much that is.
The material adds a texture, a reality, to the
surfaces of the past that are revealed in print,
filling out what Raymond Williams (1977: 110)
called "the whole substance of lived identities
and relationships." Material is not seen here as
just a passive product of economic behavior, but
as an instrumental component of symbolic
actions. The fact that symbolic behaviors are
ephemeral makes their material traces that
much more important.
Even today, tobacco communicates.
Cigarettes, cigars, pipe tobacco, chewing
tobacco, and snuff are all more or less accepted
ways of taking tobacco, depending on where the
user is and the circles in which he or she moves.
Each allows us to make a statement about our
identity, about how we would prefer to be seen
by others, as well as about the company we keep.
With our choices in clothing, food, and shelter,
and our speech, the form of tobacco we use (or
even the fact that we abstain), makes up a
portion of the image that we present to the rest
of society. In short, tobacco use is part of
appearential ordering, part of our presentation
of self.
Since the First World War, when cigarettes
were first issued to the military, they have gained
a progressively larger share of the tobacco
market. To the extent that they have done this,
cigarettes have relegated many other forms of
tobacco to the role of symbols of regional
cultural identity. In America at least, cigarettes
began as a predominantly middle and upper
class form of expression, more favored by
women than men. Until the invention and
widespread introduction of high volume
cigarette rolling machines in the late 19th
century, other forms of tobacco consumption
were more common (Heimann 1960: 212).
Tobacco use may still be a means of
communicating implicit and explicit statements
about social class, gender relationships, and
ethnicity, but my contention is that it was much
more often used as such before the boom in
cigarette use.
During the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries,
pipes made from white ball clay were by far the
most prevalent type on both sides of the Atlantic.
The introduction of other materials, such as
meerschaum, a rare mineral found in Asia
Minor, had little impact on the popularity of
"clays." Meerschaum was more fragile and
much more expensive than clay, which limited
its use to all but the wealthiest smokers. It was
not until the introduction of sturdier and more
reasonably priced brier pipes in the 1850s, and
the introduction of the cigar from Spain and the
Spanish colonies later in the century, that the
predominance of clay pipes was threatened.
In the meantime, clay pipes had been
changing. From the 16th century on, bowls
steadily became larger (Oswald 1951), and stems
grew longer. By the early 18th century,
"alderman" pipes, with 18-inch stems, were in
use. By the close of the century,
"churchwardens," more than two feet in length,
were being manufactured, although most of the
pipes in use were considerably snorter (Walker
1977: 13). After the introduction of moderately
priced brier pipes in the 1850s, which provided
the middle class with an alternative to hot-
smoking clays, the clay pipe itself, however short
or long the stem, came to be identified with the
working classes.
As a form of behavior, tobacco use has some
unique aspects that should be taken into
account. First and foremost, although tobacco is
often mentioned in connection with
236 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
"flashpoints" of class, ethnic, and gender
conflict, it is rarely the source of the conflict.
Often instead tobacco use is mentioned to mark,
or identify, the actual source of conflict for the
reader, who is generally assumed to be of similar
background to the writer. This marking is a
function of the symbolic values that were
attached to the smoking act, and which form
identifiable patterns.
Another potential source of information is, of
course, the archaeological record. In the course
of tobacco use, people interact with and modify
material culture, and their behavior may be
approached through its material remains. That
this is rarely done is the result of several factors
discussed below, factors that have combined to
form a sizable "blind spot" in the analysis and
interpretation of archaeologically recovered clay
pipes.
"Workingman's Cutties"
In July 1889, the residents of Elm Street, on
Worcester's fashionable West Side, were
reportedly ecstatic. A vacant lot in their
neighborhood was sold to a local industrialist
who wanted to build a home, putting an end to
fears that Leonard Harrington, the previous
owner, would attempt to erect a tenement there.
Harrington was already unpopular for his
practice of renting the other half of the duplex in
which he lived to "representatives of all nations,"
whose behavior scandalized their more
respectable neighbors.
At one time a family of French [Canadian] people
"lived in the house. The men folk sat around the
house and on the front doorsteps in their
shirtsleeves and smoked white clay pipes, and of
course that did not tend to soften the feeling of
discontent among the neighbors that the
Harringtons were lowering the tone of that
particular section of the city (Worcester Sunday
Telegram, 7 July 1889, p. 6, emphasis added).
In this case it was probably the deshabille of
the offenders in such a public setting and the
fact that they took their leisure in full view that
upset their neighbors. In fictional treatments,
the sight of a man in shirtsleeves on a front
doorstep was grounds to sell one's house and
move to a better neighborhood (cf. Whitchill
1968: 119-120). Although it may appear that the
white clay pipes were in themselves offensive, it
is more likely that they were mentioned only to
remind the reader that Harrington's tenants
were members of the working class and thus out
of place on the West Side. By the 1880s, clay
pipes were solidly established as the
workingman's preferred mode of smoking.
During the 18th century, short-stemmed clay
pipes became popular among the working
classes (Fresco-Corbu 1964), probably because
they could be easily smoked while working, while
pipes with longer stems would prove unwieldy.
Short pipes became known as "cutty pipes" or
"cutties" to the Scots and British (from the 1770s)
(Oxford English Dictionary II: 1296 [hereafter
OED]), while the Irish referred to them as
"dhudeens" (Walker 1977: 14). A British
meerschaum smoker, writing as "Caius" in the
1830s, described a porter that he hired to carry
his portmanteau from the coach office to his
hotel as "smoking from a short pipe the whole
way" ("Caius" 1836: 386). The distinction
between long and short-stemmed clay pipes
clearly involved a social differentiation as well; a
later writer commented on this, as well as on the
popularity of clays in Britain on the eve of the
First World War:
The old pipe rack, with its long row of
churchwardens and Broseleys — at one time an
indispensable fitting in most bar-parlours — has
vanished. These pipes survived long after the
sixties of the last century and the advent of
meerschaums and briars. Professional men and
tradesmen met nightly to smoke their long pipes
and to discuss scandal and affairs of state. By an
unwritten law working-men and their habiliments
were excluded, except under the wing of a protector.
He was a bold man who would enter with a short
clay pipe in his mouth. This curious notion
concerning the appearance of the short clay still
exists, although the enormous quantity of them sold
shows it is a general favourite with smokers
(Moseley 1913, emphasis added).
Indeed the churchwarden, "beloved of Carlyle
and Tennyson," was easily distinguishable from
the "short clays of the farmhands and other
labourers" (Anonymous 1913; Prideaux 1913).
Figure 11-1, Henry R. Robinson's lithograph,
'The Smokers," provides a satirical American
view of the class differences involved in smoking
behavior during the 19th century (the lithograph
is dated 1837). Two Black laborers, a chimney
sweep and a bootblack, discuss the relative
social and economic merits of "half Spanish"
cigars, and those made entirely from domestic
leaf. On the right, a gentleman in top hat and
tails exclaims, '"I follow in the footsteps of my
illustrious predecessor,' the greatest and best,
and smoke a pipe." Indeed the pipe is a
churchwarden nearly as long as the smoker's
arm. The smoker is seated on a chair, with his
legs crossed — as if to emphasize the
ridiculousness of attempting to smoke such a
pipe on the street! By contrast, a silent figure on
the extreme left goes about his work in his
shirtsleeves, with a hod on his shoulder. He is
also smoking a clay pipe, but one that projects
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 217
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218 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
only a few inches from his mouth. The class
message is clear — gentlemen smoke long pipes,
laborers smoke short ones. The lithograph
vividly illustrates that acts of tobacco
consumption carried with them symbolic import,
serving to reinforce class and ethnic distinctions,
to the extent that they could be stereotypical.
As the 19th century progressed, the
identification of clay pipes with the working
classes became more pronounced. An 1869
article surveyed clay pipes of different materials
and observed that in the category of white clay
pipes one would include "the 'common run' of
democratic or workingman's clay pipes"
(Anonymous 1869: 147). A forward-looking 1897
author saw an evolution towards greater
"spiritualizing of smoking.. .in the change from
the blackened 'cutty7 of the laborer to the light,
quickly consumed, neat, and delicate cigarette"
(Anonymous 1897). In 1903 it was observed that
"in almost every cigar shop window [in New
York], in the mouth of every third laborer
met. ..this snow white little instrument of comfort
and amusement may be seen" (Anonymous
1903).
Clays were favored not only by laborers, but by
skilled workers as well. When Sherlock Holmes
went undercover in 'The Adventure of Charles
Augustus Milverton," he did so as
a plumber with a rising business.. .a rakish young
workman, with a goatee beard and a swagger,
[who] lit his clay pipe at the lamp before
descending into the street (Doyle 1963: 166).
Doyle certainly understood the importance of
the pipe as a symbol in the presentation of self
and used it as a brilliant device to convey the
authenticity of Holmes' disguise as well as the
effectiveness of his attention to detail.
Economic factors certainly played a role in
dissuading the working classes from following
the middle class in the direction of briers and
meerschaums. Clay pipes were far and away the
least expensive. In 1869, clay pipes cost between
50 cents and $1.20 per gross, briers cost between
$5.00 and $25.00 per gross in Europe, prior to
being shipped to America (where they were
certainly more expensive), and the price of
meerschaums was "always comparatively high
and may reach fabulous, or 'fancy' prices"
(Anonymous 1869). In Boston in 1883, clay pipes
sold at retail for as little as one and two cents
each (Walker 1983: 39).
Such economy could be supremely important.
The average Lowell mill worker's wage in 1900
was $0.10 per hour, or $6.20 per week (Brown
1976: 148n). At about this time, the average price
for brier pipes listed in the Sears, Roebuck and
Company catalogue was nearly $1.25, and the
cheapest block meerschaum pipe was $2.83, an
amount that exceeded the weekly room and
board fees at the boardinghouses (Sears,
Roebuck and Company 1908: 1044-1046; see also
chapters by Bond and Landon, this volume).
Under such circumstances, it is understandable
why a working-class smoker might prefer as
inexpensive a pipe as possible.
Economy, however, was not be the sole motive
behind workingmen's preference for short clay
pipes. Just as the middle class used pipes to
determine who should be included in their
gatherings, so could the working classes use
them as a signal of identity, even a symbol of
pride. This was not lost on pipemakers. All of the
manufacturers in Glasgow, the major producers
of pipes for export, made a "workman" model of
pipe by 1900 — W. White & Son made a
"Workman's Cutty" — most also made "Miner"
pipes (Associated Tobacco Pipe Makers' Society
of Scotland and Ireland [hereafter ATPM] 1900).
A mule spinner who appeared at his local saloon
with a 28-inch churchwarden might find himself
the butt of his fellows' humor.
A short stem will result in a hot smoke, so
another motivation may have been the desire for
such an effect — smoking for sensory stimulation,
as much as for the relaxation and reflection that
often motivated the middle class (Anonymous
1835: 134-135, 1867: 124; "Caius" 1836: 386-387)
Compare this with the belief among Colombian
mestizo laborers that it is "particularly
pleasurable" to smoke a cigar with the lit end
inside the mouth (Reichel-Dolmatoff and
Reichel-Dolmatoff 1961: 198). There is some
evidence that middle-class smokers preferred
milder tobaccos than did the working classes
(Loftus 1881: 12, 17), but on the other hand, there
is also evidence evidence that while short
stemmed pipes may have smoked hotter, they
"colored," or broke in, easier and that once this
process was complete they provided a mellow
smoke (Anonymous 1868: 26-27; Machen 1884:
54).
One middle class satirist, writing in the 1880s,
commented that short clay pipes were "light and
easy to be carried in the mouth," and that they
become "saturated with tobacco, and so
excellently sweet," and finally that they were
an insult to "decent society" — I considering "decent
society" as a filthy and obscene harridan which
every man docs well to trample on and defy
(Machen 1884: 54, emphasis in original).
Some working-class smokers no doubt shared
Machen's attitude toward "decent society," and
used short clays to announce their presence to
the middle class using an upsetting but easily
understood symbol. In short, one element of the
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 219
pleasure derived from short clays must have
been the discomfort of others. This seeming
lack of concern for hegemonic sensibilities was a
common working-class approach to class
relationships (Meacham 1977: 20-21), and
constitutes an important element of "style," in
Hebdige's usage.
The fact is that there simply is not enough
documentation from workers themselves on the
subject to be able to say for certain why they
preferred clay cutties. Like the laborer in Figure
1, the working classes themselves tend to be
silent in the documentary record. When they do
speak in the writings of the middle class, as does
so-called Caius' porter, there is an air of
deference and acceptance of "station" — not
surprising, if he hoped for a tip!
In New England, and probably elsewhere in
America as well, clay pipes were known
generically as T.D.s, after the initials that
appeared as decorative elements on the most
popular models — the one to two cent models
mentioned by Walker's unnamed source as
coming from Scotland (Walker 1983: 38-39).
"T.D." was apparently a generic name for clay
pipes as late as 1908 (Cooper 1908: 381). A
statistical exploration of wholesale price and
labor cost information on the two existing
Scottish pipe lists (McDougall n.d.; ATPM 1900)
revealed that on the 1875 list, T.D. pipe models
had significantly lower wholesale values than the
list of types as a whole, supporting the
interpretation that their low price was a factor in
their popularity (Cook 1988: 16).
By the early 20th century, middle class use of
the long-stemmed pipe was taking place in what
was apparently a ritual setting, as William L.
Calver explained in 1931:
Even in our day the breakage of the
"Churchwarden" in transportation is enormous, and
the price consequently high. At the annual
meetings of certain societies, "Churchwardens" are
smoked by the members present and their guests.
With due care the pipes used are borne to the
homes of the smokers, and are there deposited with
other implements of their kind — a ceramic record of
the smokes of other years (Calver 1950: 287).
Unfortunately, neither the names nor the
purpose of those "certain societies" is provided,
but it is likely that at the time that Calver was
writing, clay pipes were rapidly being replaced
by cigarettes among the working class. What is
clear about the middle class preference for long-
stemmed clay pipes is that it derived from their
relation to what Veblen called "conspicuous
leisure." The very fact that one could do no
menial work while smoking a pipe with a 24-inch
stem implies that one could afford the time to do
nothing (cf. Veblen 1899: 43). It is also
informative to look at artificiality of pipe
materials and the degree of mechanization
involved in their manufacture. Clay must be
substantially altered to be useful, and clay pipes
were mass-produced, albeit largely through
manual labor (Anonymous 1852). Briers and
meerschaums on the other hand are of natural
material, unmodified except in the carving
process, which must be done by hand, increasing
their value as status goods (cf. Fussell 1983: 52-
53, 73).
What is most interesting about the expression
of class differences through pipe preferences is
that it does not appear to be a source of overt
class conflict. When they appear in situations of
actual conflict (as in Worcester in the 1880s) or
potential conflict (had any laborers attempted to
horn in on Moseley's gossiping tradesmen in the
1860s), clay pipes are present more as a visible
symbol of the class differences that underlie the
conflict, rather than as objects of contention in
and of themselves.
Unlike drinking, smoking among the working
class was often viewed by middle class writers as
something held in common across class
boundaries. "Caius," writing in the 1830s, was
careful to point out the difference between
"smokers" who enjoyed, and "puffers" who
merely followed habit, designations that he
allowed could be independent of class. One
anonymous humorist observed that both the
immigrant "from the Emerald Isle with his short
dhudeen" and the "west End exquisite, with his
real Havannah" contributed their share of
smoke to the London fog (Anonymous 1842: 66).
Where smoking engenders conflict it is more
often a matter of disagreement over the
appropriateness of public versus private
performance of certain actions. In short,
working class leisure often involved recreation
and relaxation, including drinking and smoking,
in public places, such as streets, saloons, and
public parks, while the middle class preferred
that such activities take place indoors. The
friction generated by conflicting notions of
proper behavior led the middle class to attempt
to legislate their concepts of correct behavior,
and was a major factor in the residential
segregation that characterized the industrial city
(cf. Rosenzweig 1983). The British and New
England standard of propriety held that
A gentleman should as soon be seen eating his
dinner in the public streets, as smoking a segar [sic].
Both are proper in their places; and both may
become, in some situations, worse than ridiculous.
(Anonymous 1835: 134)
and that
220 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
It is vulgar to smoke in the streets and parks,
(unless in a very secluded part of the latter,). ..The
linen-drapers' shopmen, el id genus omne, delight
in strutting with segars in Regent Street; and what
gentleman smoker wishes to be identified with
such? ("Caius" 1836: 387)
As late as the 1880s, one could be "too much of a
gentleman to smoke on the public thoroughfare,
or in the immediate presence of ladies" (Gould
1886-1887:511).
These conceptions of proper behavior varied
according to region, as well as according to class.
John Richard Dennett, who visited the North
Carolina legislature immediately after the Civil
War, remarked upon several members smoking
(long stemmed pipes, of course) during an
address. Another member removed a quid of
tobacco from his mouth and held it in his hand
while speaking, that he might speak more
clearly! Dennett (who was from Massachusetts)
observed that such behavior, "in a Northern
assemblage of similar character, would have
provoked animadversion or laughter" (Dennett
1965: 157).
By the mid-20th century, tobacconists and
others could recommend clay pipes to the
serious connoisseur as an occasional change
from briers and other pipes (Herment 1955: 20;
Anonymous 1952). By this time, clays had
apparently lost their symbolic connections with
the working classes.
Tobacco, with drinking and other activities,
was an element in the discourse over leisure
behavior. Alternate hegemonies divided along
class lines contested control of public space, and
smoking was one of the weapons wielded by the
working classes. By the mid-20th century the
working-class contribution, smoking in public
places, had become hegemonic, illustrating the
ability of working-class culture to negotiate at
least some of its practices into cultural
dominance
The attention of social historians who have
investigated class relationships has inevitably
been drawn to points of conflict — strikes, riots,
and resistance to changing technologies in the
workplace — what Gareth Stedman Jones (1977:
163) has called the "flashpoints" between
classes. This is perfectly understandable, as
open conflict of any sort tends to be well
documented, especially if it is ultimately
mediated in the legal system, and at
"flashpoints," the issues and interests of
historical participants become visible to the
historian. Class differences that do not involve
conflict are not as easily visible and do not call as
much attention to themselves.
Consumption of alcohol was the focus of
considerable conflict between the working class
and middle and upper class interests throughout
the 19th century and well into the 20th century.
Tobacco consumption generated a fair amount
of rancor in some quarters, but the issue was not
divided along the clear class lines of the
temperance movement. In fact, an anti-
smoking law in Utah failed during the 1920s
because it was aimed at an acceptable middle
class pleasure, after-dinner smoking in
restaurants. The first (and only) arrests were of
several businessmen and a newspaper
manager — the law was repealed at the
insistence of the Salt Lake Chamber of
Commerce, the Salt Lake Lions Club, and the
Utah Manufacturers Association (Dillow 1981:
95, 106-107).
In sum, smoking in and of itself was not a
class-based activity. There were, however,
distinctively class-linked elements to smoking
behavior: the smoking materials used, their
practicality and their cost; and the context in
which smoking occurred — whether in public, in
full view of all, or in the privacy of the study or
club room. These aspects of material culture and
situation commanded contemporary attention
to the extent that they figure more prominently
in written discourse than the everyday nature of
smoking behavior would suggest.
Part of working-class "style" may have
consisted of the intentional breaking of middle-
class rules that dictated the proper places to
smoke. Arthur Machen felt that short clay pipes
were most appropriate "to be used in the parks
and public places for the annoyance of fools"
(Machen 1884: 55), and there is no reason to
believe that he was alone in that respect. One
cannot help but suspect that Elm Street's
immigrants derived a certain satisfaction from
the irritation that their attire and smoking
behavior caused among their more genteel
neighbors.
Tobacco use has aspects that set it apart from
other means of class expression. It sometimes
appears in connection with conflicts between
classes, and although it is seldom the cause of
conflict its presence and involvement offer
evidence of the ways in which material items and
non-verbal behavior communicated class
differences. That clay pipes in the mouths of
French Canadian immigrants could figure so
prominently among the concerns of their
middle-class neighbors testifies to the power of
such commonplace items to become symbols
and to affect people in unanticipated ways.
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 221
"Representatives of all Nations"
Just as modes of cultural self-expression
varied according to class, they also varied with
ethnic background (e.g., Samson 1960). The
status inherent in and the class messages
conveyed by different methods of smoking or
taking tobacco are cultural variables and are
interpreted differently by members of different
cultures, much as with the consumption of
alcohol. The ethnic groups that settled the New
World, either by choice, from necessity, or
against their will, either brought distinctive
tobacco-related behaviors with them or adopted
them once here.
Tobacco use in Europe began with the Spanish
and the English and spread across the continent
from those two nations. The Spanish tobacco
tradition centered around the cigar, while the
British tradition centered around the pipe. To
some extent these generalizations may have
reflected the native practices in the colonies of
each nation (Walker 1977: 55).
Within the British Isles, there were some
ethnic differences that developed by the early
17th century. Snuff became extremely popular
in Scotland and Ireland and remained so in
Scotland well into the 19th century (ibid.: 49). As
the 19th century progressed, Scotland became
the primary manufacturing center of the United
Kingdom for clay pipes for export, and the Irish
came to be associated with the Scotch product.
By the time that the Irish began to arrive in
America, they were often identified as smoking
the "dhudeen," a particular Irish term for the
short-stemmed clay pipe. The stereotypical
figure of the "bog-trotter of the Emerald Isle with
his short dhudeen, and his mouth full of 'taith'"
(Anonymous 1842: 66), or the "Irish coal-
whipper...with his dhudheen..." ("Caius" 1836:
385) was a familiar caricature in the mid-19th
century. The image is so strong to this day that it
crops up every Saint Patrick's Day in the form of
the Leprechaun — with the stem of his pipe now
long and curved.
An article that illustrates a Canadian
collection of unique pipes (Anonymous 1904)
indicates that one of the pipes, of white clay with
a stem about four inches long, was "smoked by
A. Molley Maguire [sic] while being hanged."
Despite the apparent typographical error, it is
clear that the smoker in question was a member
of the Molly Maguires, a secret society among
Irish immigrants in the Pennsylvania coalfields.
The society, which was active between 1862 and
1875, approached labor relations according to
established Old World tradition — by sending
anonymous threatening letters, and by
blackening their faces and committing assaults
and offenses against property (Coleman 1936: 47,
78-91). The Molly Maguires were infiltrated by
the Pinkertons, and 20 were hanged in 1877
(Broehl 1964: 340). The presence of the pipe in
the collection points up its use as a symbol of
Irish-American working-class solidarity and
labor activism.
There is no question but that clay pipes were
preferred by the Irish. This is reflected in the
model names in the Glaswegian firm of Duncan
McDougall & Company's "Irish Price List,"
dated ca. 1875 (McDougall & Co. n.d.), and in
their wage list of 1900 (ATPM 1900: 5-16). In the
earlier document, 31 of the 168 pipe types (18.5%)
appear to have Irish connotations. By about 25
years later, the percentage has dropped slightly,
but 69 of 410 types have Irish associations. The
"Dublins" and "Derries" in these lists are are
almost certainly references to pipe shapes, while
"Erin Go Bragh," "Harp," and "Flag of Ireland"
are more likely to refer to decorative motifs.
Some of the sentiments, such as "Home Rule,"
had political connotations. That such pipes were
actually made and imported to the United States
is borne out by importers' catalogs (Sudbury and
Pfeiffer 1983: figure 1), as well as by excavated
examples (Alexander 1986). Several such pipes,
including a "Home Rule" pipe (see Figure 10-
16) and an "Erin/[Wolf] Tone" pipe (see Figure
10-18) were recovered from the Boott Mill
Boardinghouse excavations, and are discussed
in Chapter 10.
There is some evidence that African
Americans also smoked white clay pipes.
Newspaper advertisements in the South
referred to clays as "Negro Pipes" — clay pipe
fragments are frequently encountered on slave
cabin sites (Otto 1984: 76). The extent to which
conditions in the South may be applied to other
areas in the country is questionable, although
clay pipe fragments have been recovered from
free Black sites in the North as well (Geismar
1982: 143, 224-225). In fact, at least one pipe
fragment marked "[ne]gro pipe," apparently
made by a London pipemaker active during the
second half of the 19th century, has been
published (Pfeiffer 1983).
Immigrants from Germany and the Slavic
areas of Eastern Europe had their own smoking
preferences. Although the German upper
classes favored meerschaums, the working
classes preferred composite pipes, with separate
mouthpieces, stems, and porcelain bowls
(Machen 1884: 51; Walker 1977: 67). William
Long, who started business as a tobacconist in
Philadelphia in 1845, his inventory included six
"German pipes," valued at $.09 each (Long n.d.:
4). By the turn of the century, such pipes were in
222 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
common enough use in this country that Sears
and Roebuck sold several varieties, ranging in
price from $.79 to $1.33, along with replacement
stems (Sears, Roebuck and Co. 1908: 1045). A
smaller and less ornate pipe is shown in use in
Byington (1910: opp. p. 137).
As mentioned above, the Hispanic tradition
favored cigars over pipes, and it was apparently
through the Spanish colonies that the cigarette
entered the New World. In areas where Anglo-
Americans and Hispanic Americans came into
direct conflict over land and resources, as in
California during the 1850s, ethnic conflict could
be expressed in terms of tobacco use. An Anglo-
American judge in early San Francisco, who
clearly had no liking either for the "Chillenos" or
the cigarettes that they smoked, made his
sentiments known from the bench. One trial for
horse theft reportedly consisted of the following
exchange:
"Do you smoke cigarettes?"
"Si, senor."
"Do you blow the smoke through your nose?"
"Si, senor."
"Then I find you guilty as charged, and may God
have mercy on your soul! Constable, take this
fellow out and shoot him! He stole that horse, sure
enough!" (Asbury 1947: 49-50)
Again, as with class conflicts, it would appear
here that the underlying conflict is not the
smoking behavior in question, but rather in its
ethnic implications.
The smoking behaviors of other ethnic groups
are more problematic, largely because of a
paucity of documentary evidence. French-
Canadians made up a substantial percentage of
the workforce in New England textile
communities, including Lowell. Although there
are a few tantalizing glimpses, such as the 1889
Worcester incident, that suggest that their
smoking behavior may have been similar in
some respects to that of their Anglo-American
counterparts, more research needs to be done
on their expression of ethnicity through smoking
behavior. We may assume, however, that cases
such as that of Andre Beaulieu are atypical.
Beaulieu preferred a corncob pipe, and was
smoking nearly two packages of tobacco each
week. This attracted the attention of the Lowell
Humane Society, which felt that Andre should
have been cultivating habits more typical of
other three-year-olds. When they confiscated
his pipe, which he had been smoking daily since
he was 18 months of age, Andre "screamed with
anger and aroused the neighborhood." His
mother, who would have been 15 years old when
Andre was born, was probably telling the truth
when "she claimed to be unaware that tobacco
would hurt the child," and the Humane Society
allowed him to remain at home (New York
Times, 15 December 1906: 1). The whole episode
is probably more indicative of a working-class
teenage mother's desperation than of any ethnic
practice.
A problem in examining the relationship
between ethnicity and smoking behavior is that
it is often difficult to distinguish between class
and ethnicity. If arriving immigrants began life
in America at the bottom of the social and
economic scale, as many did, how can one
determine the extent to which ethnicity, rather
than class, influenced their behavior? Or for
that matter, how can we be certain that 19th-
century observers were not interpreting ethnic
behavior as class behavior — saying, for example
"laborers," when they meant "Irish laborers"?
The answer is that very often we cannot be
certain, and in fact it is probably sufficient to be
aware that class and ethnicity are often closely
interrelated, and that both could be symbolically
mediated simultaneously, often through
manipulation of the same objects.
While tobacco use was an element of the
"lived system of meanings and values" of all
ethnic subcultures, and thus formed part of their
contribution to the hegemonic discourse, there
is no evidence that ethnic differences were ever
as contested as class differences in the domain
of smoking behavior. Rather than the
"competing hegemonies" of class-based
behaviors, ethnic differences in smoking
behavior seem to have been accepted by the
majority culture as legitimate characteristics of
ethnic subcultures. In short, they constituted
"alternate hegemonies" in a sphere of life —
ethnic identity — which was not contested
through smoking behavior, except where that
behavior was perceived as class-based.
"No man shall dictate to me"
The issue of gender-based differences is both
fascinating and complex. The question of how
many women smoked during the late 19th and
early 20th centuries is subject to many popular
misconceptions. Advertisements for Virginia
Slims cigarettes over the last several decades
have attempted to place women's right to smoke
among the goals of the women's suffrage
movement. These advertisements are intended
to portray smoking as an act of rebellious self-
expression (by women attired in the trappings of
the middle class) in the face of societal
disapproval — that is, to capitalize on the
renewed women's liberation movement of the
1960s and 1970s. In an unusual form of
sexploitation, they reflect a distorted view of
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 223
turn-of-the-century middle and upper class
attitudes, through blatantly fabricated vignettes.
Although this kind of alteration of the past can
occur unintentionally, it is plain here that the
intention was to link the product with a historical
activity — resistance to irrational and petty
authority — even if that activity has to be
invented. In short, "we alter the past to become
part of it as well as to make it our own"
(Lowenthal 1985: 331) — appropriating and
articulating it in the service of present-day goals.
The Virginia Slims ads are a clear example of
what Roland Barthes called the mythologizing of
the ordinary. In Barthes' terms,
mythologization occurs when the normal
semiotic relationship is duplicated on another
level (Barthes 1957b: 199-200). The symbolic
act — the woman smoking to signify resistance to
male strictures — constituted a sign in its original
context. Here, it has been appropriated in its
entirety as a signifier of something else
altogether — a brand of cigarettes, or at least the
desirability of smoking them. Resistance has in
this case been trivialized and neutralized. So
what if women make half as much as men? At
least they're allowed to smoke now (i.e., "You've
come a long way, baby!"). The advertisements
may even have had the effect of calming women
who were alarmed by the stridency of the
contemporary women's liberation movement —
trivializing past conflict makes the present
conflict seem less threatening (Lowenthal 1985:
345).
The fact is that smoking was not an arena in
which the drama of suffragism was played out,
and few if any suffragettes expended their
energy on such peripheral topics. An
examination of any sample of historical writings
on women's issues in the late 19th and early 20th
centuries will indicate that if women were forcing
their own arrest and being jailed, it was because
they wanted the right to vote, not to smoke. Both
the open conflict over the right to vote and the
friction over tobacco-use were forms of
resistance to male conceptions of what
constituted the women's sphere in society. As a
form of symbolic behavior, smoking could be
used by women to bring essential issues into
view.
On 21 January, 1908, New York Alderman
Timothy "Little Tim" Sullivan, succeeded in
passing an ordinance to prevent women from
smoking in public places. There were some
questions about the law's validity, and it was set
aside by the Mayor in early February (New York
Times, 21 January 1908: 1; 4 February 1908: 1).
Although questions of whether or not the
Aldermen had overstepped their authority
provided the justification for the mayor's
decision, the reason was more likely the law's
potential as a ground for conflict.
Only one person was arrested and charged for
violating the "Sullivan Law." Two days after the
law took effect, a Patrolman Stern arrested 29-
year-old Katie Mulcahy for lighting a cigarette
on the Bowery. The accused refused to divulge
her address or to pay the $5.00 fine. She was led
away to spend the night in jail, "carrying her
package of cigarettes." Her parting words to the
judge (which for some reason never made it into
the Virginia Slims ads) were "No man shall
dictate to me" — a singularly accurate appraisal
of the ordinance's intent (New York Times, 23
January 1908: 1).
There is ample evidence that women smoked,
in both Britain and America, in the 17th and 18th
centuries (cf. "St. Swithin" 1909; Hodgkin 1909;
Heimann 1960: 89). A British writer remembered
seeing "respectable old women smoking
'churchwardens' here and there in country
places," during the 1850s (Anonymous 1909), and
it was apparently at about this time that smoking
among women in both Britain and America
began to decline (Heimann 1960: 90). There is
no evidence that it was considered particularly
daring or disgraceful for women to smoke before
mid-century. In fact, the wives of Andrew
Jackson and Zachary Taylor both were pipe
smokers (ibid.: 90).
The evidence for a decline in smoking among
women is admittedly based on information
concerning the middle and upper classes in
urban contexts. By the 1890s, smoking was not
an activity in which "respectable" women (or
men, for that matter) engaged while in public. It
is difficult to say how thoroughly, if at all, this
ethic was adopted by working class women and
by women in rural areas. A broadside on the ill
effects of tobacco from the 1870s or 1880s
mentions women smoking pipes in Ohio
(Anonymous 1964), indicating that the practice
continued among some rural women.
There is every reason to believe that among
working class women smoking remained
popular. A British woman, herself a smoker,
allowed that "among the lower classes there are
a few women who smoke," counting vendors of
fruit and fish among them, as well as
the aged women of the Negro and Celtic races,
exemplified in the old freed slaves and Scotch and
Irish croons, who have led a life half man-like in
toil, half brute-like in its obedience to unreasoning
instincts. (Hunting 1889-1890: 220-222)
By contrast, the same author found smoking
prevalent among the upper classes, where "so
many keep [their smoking] habit as secret from
224 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
members of their own sex as from men,"
although "in some country houses it is no
uncommon thing for the ladies to join the
gentlemen in the smoking-room, and to mingle
the fumes of their dainty, mild-flavoured
cigarettes with the more masculine cigar smoke"
(ibid.: 221, 222). Women art students and artists
were even noted as smoking pipes, including
clays (ibid.: 222).
In America, tobacco use among women was
subject to considerable regional variability.
After the Civil War, John Dennett, a
Massachusetts journalist, noted pipe smoking
and snuff-dipping among white rural southern
women (Dennett 1965: 96, 117). A quarter of a
century later, the latter practice either
continued, or was popularly considered to do so,
to the extent that Hunting could refer to
those uncultured women, both rich and poor and of
all ages, in the southern and western parts of the
United States, who indulge openly in streets,
tramcars and theatres in the practice of tobacco-
dipping, i.e. dipping a short stick into a box of snuff
and inserting it in mouth or nostril (Hunting 1889-
1890: 220).
In California, the Spanish tradition of tobacco
use apparently won out. An 1891 advertisement
for A. Coolot, a Sacramento wholesale
tobacconist, lists 68 varieties of cigars, exactly
half of which are described as "young ladies'
cigars" with brand names — "smiles," "sweet
lips," "bright eyes," "pansy blossoms," etc — that
leave little doubt about their intended market.
Coolot was also described as the sole West
Coast agent for the "Young Ladies Standard
Cigar Factory," which may account for the
prominence of such cigars in his line
(Weinstock, Lubin and Co. 1891: 116-117).
Nevertheless, it is clear that cigars were readily
available to women in California and wherever
else the Young Ladies' Standard Cigar Factory
did business.
Contrast this with the Northeast, where cigars
were not for women. Clearly, the ideal in the
region from the mid-19th century on was that
middle and upper class women did not smoke,
and that gentlemen did not smoke in their
presence. Travelling through Georgia in 1865,
Dennett, seeing cigars sold aboard railway cars,
remarked that "it was assumed that the ladies
would make no objection if they were smoked"
(Dennett 1965: 266). Elizabeth Porter Gould's
(1885-1886) discussion of college girls' attitudes
towards smoking concerns not women
themselves smoking, but rather their opinions of
men who smoked — that the women in question
did not smoke was a given. The reality was
almost certainly that Northeastern women were
smoking in private. Tensions began to grow
during the first decade of this century, when
women began to experiment with the
boundaries of propriety, something that their
British sisters had done more than a decade
earlier. In 1906, an anonymous non-smoking
woman observed in the pages of the New York
Times that "in this country it is still considered
not quite 'the thing' for a woman to take a
cigarette so she hides the habit, or attempts to
hide it," while "in England it has long ceased to
be a matter for comment when a woman
smoked either privately or publicly"
(Anonymous 1906). She further mentioned that
she had never seen a woman smoke until she
visited London in the mid-1890s, on which
occasion a man offered her a cigarette at a social
function, while half a dozen women smoked
nearby — the experience led her to question
whether she had "got into a crowd that was not
exactly 'nice,'" and that it took her about two
years to get accustomed to seeing women smoke
(ibid.). The experience was an even greater
shock to an American man who witnessed
women smoking in a London restaurant — he
stormed out, apologizing for choosing a
disreputable establishment, making it clear that
he felt it very forward of the women to be
smoking in such a place (ibid.).
It is clear that during the second half of the
19th century, radical changes occurred in the
leisure behavior of the middle and upper classes
as well as in gender relationships. It would
appear that in the urban Northeast, the act of
smoking had ideally become exclusively male,
practiced alone or in the presence of other men,
in places set aside for the purpose and off-limits
to women — clubs, smoking rooms, and smoking
cars on trains. Hegemonic behavior required
female abstention from tobacco, especially in
public. Smoking was associated by men and
women alike with other male behaviors that were
considered coarse and offensive to women.
Whatever these behaviors may have been, their
association with smoking was so deeply
ingrained as to bring forth a deep sense of
unease, or even disgust. This is a case where the
act of smoking could cause conflict, associated
as it was with this implicit ulterior meaning.
Although the structure of this behavioral
complex is unclear, some outlines may
tentatively be sketched. Tolstoy, at about the
same time, held that
there is a certain well-defined, undeniable
interdependence between smoking and the need to
silence one's conscience, and that smoking does
undoubtedly produce that effect.... When do boys
begin to smoke? Almost invariably when they have
lost the innocence of childhood.... Why is it that
among the female sex the women who lead
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 225
blameless, regular lives are the least addicted to
smoking? Why do courtesans and the insane all
smoke without exception? (Tolstoy 1891: 179)
This almost pharmacological approach to
virtue is misleading. It may in fact be a polite
circumlocution to avoid detailing the symbolic
meaning of women smoking in the presence of
men. It appears that public smoking, or even
displaying visible evidence of being a smoker,
was a means by which women signalled sexual
availability to men. In Victorian Britain, where
appearential ordering often hinged on minute
details of dress or appearance, a man might
interpret a "slight discoloration of the teeth" as a
sign of sexuality (Sennett 1978: 166). A 1908 New
York Times editorial baldly tried to link the
importation of cigarette smoking from Europe to
"continental" social scandal, which they
apparently meant infidelity. The offended
American man in the London restaurant was
amazed at the respectable appearance of the
smokers at the nearby table — "no make-
up...rather dowdy in dress" — as though he
expected something else entirely (Anonymous
1906).
This aspect of tobacco symbolism is
understandably not discussed in the writings of
those women who advocated tolerance of public
smoking. How women were to maintain the all-
important appearance of modesty, while
engaging in behavior that signalled the opposite,
was a thorny but not insoluble problem. The
ruffled dandy's dinner companion was careful to
point out that while in England an unmarried
woman "in good society" could smoke a
cigarette with a man, she was usually
chaperoned while she did so (Anonymous 1906).
The extent to which this moral construct
applied to the working class as it did for "good
society" is not clear. Victorian attitudes toward
sexuality and class combine to make any
statements about smoking behavior among
working-class women highly suspect. William
Acton, a 19th-century writer on sexuality
distinguished between "the majority of women"
and "low and vulgar women," intimating that
sexual attitudes varied with class (quoted in
Marcus 1964: 32). It may well be that in the case
of smoking behavior the bourgeoisie was
defining an ethic in opposition to and perhaps in
response to what they perceived to be the
dominant working class ethic (cf. Montgomery
1980).
Women's agitation for the right to smoke in
public coincided with a general revolt among
bourgeois women against what many perceived
the overly restrictive appearential ordering of
the Victorian Era. In the 1890s, women began
wearing makeup, silk petticoats and marcelled
hair, while drab colors and some physically
restrictive garments, such as the bustle, went out
of fashion (Sennett 1978: 183-190). It is likely that
cigarette smoking was part of this shift in
fashion, which was distinct from suffragism,
although the two may have influenced each
other. Change was slower in coming to America
than to England, but by 1910 the moral
repugnance of seeing women smoke in the
presence of men had begun to diminish in the
Northeast, leaving only discomfort in its wake.
In December of that year, a woman accepted a
cigarette from a man in the dining room of the
newly-opened Ritz-Carlton Hotel in New York,
and calmly smoked it. She attracted the
attention of the patrons, the waiter, the head
waiter and the manager, all of whom were either
too stunned, or more likely too polite, to interfere
(New York Times, 18 December 1910: 14). This
was by no means the last word on the subject.
Thirty years later, Emily Post advised that "a
[well-bred] woman does not yet smoke on the
street" (Post 1940).
The evidence points to a contested shift in
smoking behavior among middle-class women,
which took place in Britain in the 1890s and in
the urbanized eastern United States during the
first decade of this century. Although women
often phrased their verbal and written
justifications for smoking in public in terms of
their being granted the same rights as women in
other societies, their insistence, coming as it did
at a time when suffragists were agitating for the
right to vote, was interpreted as a desire for
equal rights with men in their own society.
Through the symbolic behavior of public
smoking, middle-class women were visibly
resisting the limitations of Victorian conceptions
of the women's sphere, which was often
expressed in strongly moral terms, but they were
doing so in a way that could be made to appear
politically innocent if necessary. The horrified
reactions that their symbolic resistance
provoked has led many, (most notably the
makers of Virginia Slims) to equate it with
Suffragism, which was not necessarily the case.
All in all, the most intriguing aspect of this
resistance is that rural and working-class women
may have been engaging in it long before their
more privileged sisters.
The Archaeology of Smoking Behavior: The
Boott Mills Data
We have seen from a variety of literary and
historical sources that such mundane and
insignificant objects as common clay tobacco
226 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
pipes played significant roles in the construction
of class consciousness and often were
instrumental in its articulation. While
articulation of class differences is most visible to
us in situations of conflict, it is clear that smoking
was an integral part of day-to-day relaxation
among working people as well as among
members of the upper classes.
With such a wealth of documentary
information available it is surprising that
historical archaeologists and students of
material culture have largely neglected the
behavioral context of tobacco use. They have
concentrated instead on descriptive studies and
on investigating technological attributes of clay
pipes that relate most closely to chronology.
Clay pipes are among the most commonly
described artifacts in the archaeological
literature. One reason for this is their ubiquity on
archaeological sites in the United Kingdom,
much of Europe, English and French North
America, and Australia, on sites up to the 20th
century, and their presence on late prehistoric
and historic period sites in Africa and Latin
America. A second reason is that because of the
great variability in decoration and marking on
pipes, and the usefulness of those marks as
dating tools, a number of archaeologists have
specialized in their study. Pipe fragments are
often examined and published separately from
the other site materials, generating an immense
bibliography, most of which is descriptive in
character. In addition there are several journals
devoted to the subject, and a long-running series
on clay pipes is published by British
Archaeological Reports.
The principal use to which clay tobacco pipes
have been put is in dating archaeological sites
and features. In addition to the marks of known
makers, pipes have been dated by a variety of
methods, most frequently through comparing
bowl shapes with comparative material of known
date, and through examination of the
distribution of the values of the diameter of the
stem bores, which are known to have grown
smaller at a more or less steady rate during the
17th and 18th centuries. The most frequent
application of the latter method is the "Binford
formula," a statistical treatment that requires a
large sample of pipestem fragments, and which
breaks down and produces distorted results
when applied to contexts later than ca. 1780.3
This has led to a gap in the study of clay pipes.
Samples from 19th and 20th-century sites are
°Fot extensive discussions of dating methods, see Noel
Hume 1963; Walker 1965, 1967; and Pfeiffer 1978.
rarely discussed unless they contain specimens
with dated marks or complete bowls. Even then
there is a problem with American sites. The
most prolific exporters of pipes to the New
World during the 19th century tended to be the
most successful and to be in business the
longest — hence, their marks are the least useful
for dating purposes. In addition, very little 19th-
century material from urban contexts on the
Eastern seaboard has been published —
attention has gone instead to earlier materials
that are more easily dated.
The Boott Mills tobacco pipe collection
includes 488 white clay pipe fragments. Of
these, 110 were recovered during preliminary
testing (Beaudry and Mrozowski 1987a), and 378
during the excavation of operations A and B.
Two terra cotta pipe bowl fragments and a terra
cotta mouthpiece round out the clay pipe
component of the collection. Two plastic
pipestems and what appears to be a bone
mouthpiece were also recovered. Other tobacco
related artifacts included two fragments of a
redware cuspidor with molded relief decoration
and a fragment of a blue cellulose pocket
calendar issued by a local tobacconist in the
mid-1 890s. All of the tobacco-related material is
analyzed in detail in Chapter 10 of this volume,
and I refer the reader there for details on the
collection.
Dating
Most of the datable clay pipe fragments in the
collection were deposited after 1890. Although
the Binford pipe stem formula produced a date
of 1761 based on bore diameters, this date is
more than 60 years before the city of Lowell was
established. The shift to the use of the country of
origin in makers' marks, which was required by
the McKinley Tariff Act of 1891, provides much
more secure dates. Of the legible Scottish pipes
in the boardinghouse collection nearly 80% are
marked "Scotland." The immediate implication
of this is that much of the material in the
collection was manufactured — and hence used
and discarded — after 1891. By that time clay
pipes were a badge of the working classes.
This dating criterion permitted the
assignment of post-1891 dates to eight features.
Most of these were in Operation A, probably in
large part because more of the features in that
operation were excavated than in Operation B.
In addition, there was a difference in the
distribution of datcable material recovered from
levels, as opposed to features, between the two
operations. Earlier, pre-1891 marked Scottish
material is concentrated in level 1 of Operation
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 227
B, while the post-1891 material is distributed
across the site, in level 1, there is a fair amount in
all levels. Possible explanations for this
difference may lie in both the number of people
using the two backlots, and differences in refuse
disposal philosophies or company policy
between the tenements (Operation A) and the
board inghouses (Operation B).
Consumer Choices
Some of the pipes carry evidence of the
ethnicity of their owners. Several examples are
impressed with "DHUDEEN," the Irish word for
a short-stemmed clay pipe. Several others bear
patriotic slogans, such as "HOME RULE." One
example, which apparently bore the likeness of
the Irish nationalist martyr, Wolf Tone, is about
as clear an expression of conscious ethnic
identity as one could hope to find. While
Lowell's Irish expressed their ethnic identity
through parades and other such rituals (e.g.,
Marston 1987), some chose to do so in more
commonplace ways as well.
The most popular type of pipe was one with
the initials "T.D." marked on the back of the
bowl, facing the smoker. Seventeen of these
pipe bowls in complete or nearly complete
condition, and fragments of at least 16 more, are
present in the collection. "T.D.s," as they were
called, were so popular that their name came to
be synonymous with clay pipes, particularly
those from Scotland (Cooper 1908; Walker 1983:
38, 39). T.D.s sold at retail for only a few cents in
Boston during the 1880s (Ibid.), and analysis of
price lists suggests that Scottish T.D.s were as a
group significantly less costly than other Scottish
export pipes (Cook 1988).
Modifications
Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the
boardinghouse pipe material concerns
modification of the pipes by their users. It
appears that in some cases smokers were
breaking off the factory-made mouthpieces, and
presumably portions of the stems, before
smoking from the pipes. Of 32 clearly
identifiable factory-made mouthpiece
fragments, only six show any evidence of tooth-
wear associated with use. By contrast, 14 broken
stem fragments show evidence either of tooth-
wear — extreme wear in some cases — or of
intentional modification such as whittling or
grinding the stem to convenient dimensions for
gripping between the teeth. One stem fragment
had been carefully scored with a knife and
snapped off at the score. The implication is that
some of the pipes were modified by shortening
their stems prior to use. This indicates that the
use of short-stemmed clay pipes by working
people was not solely a function of economics,
but rather partook of aesthetics as well. They
smoked short pipes because they liked to smoke
short pipes, and if the pipes that were available
were not short enough, they could easily be
made suitable.
Indications are that the boardinghouse
residents preferred pipes that were short indeed.
In the few cases where it is possible to measure
or reconstruct the length of modified stems, we
find them to be between two and four inches in
length.
Discussion
In short, the point at which pipes cease to be
easily dated falls in the late 18th century, and
coincides roughly with the generally accepted
date at which they might become useful as
indicators of class. The latter use has apparently
never been explored, or even considered by
archaeologists. More than half of the Scottish
pipestem fragments from the Boott Mills
Boardinghouse collection are marked with the
country, rather than the city, of origin indicating
that much of the material dates after 1890. By
that date, the very presence of clay pipes is an
indicator of working-class occupation, if
interpreted on the basis of the historical data
cited above. In addition, examination of tooth-
wear patterns and intentional modifications on
the stem and mouthpiece fragments in the
collection suggests that the users were breaking
the mouthpieces and part of the stem off without
using them, until they reached a stem length
with which they felt comfortable. Several
examples indicate that they were used with stem
lengths of three to five inches. These lengths are
consistent with documented working class
preferences.
Ethnicity has been a major concern of
historical archaeologists (e.g., Schuyler 1980), but
the literature indicates that much of this concern
has been at the grossest level possible, i.e.,
consideration primarily of groups from separate
continents (usually, Asians and Africans).
Meanwhile, students of history and material
culture have been telling us that English
regional ethnic cultures are visible in the
documentary and material records (Allen 1981;
St. George 1979: 13-14), as are regional cultures
within our own country (Glassie 1968). During
the 19th century, it is clear that regional variation
occurred in tobacco use, and scholars are
228 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
beginning to approach ethnic differentiation in
pipe material (e.g., Alexander 1986).
Issues of social class and "socioeconomic
status" have recently become prominent in
historical archaeology (e.g., Spencer-Wood 1987;
Paynter 1988; McGuire 1988). Various elements
of the archaeological record have been
examined for their value as indicators of status
or their sensitivity to class analysis, including
refined ceramics, gravestones, fish remains,
vertebrate faunal remains, and location of sites
within the cultural and natural landscapes. Clay
tobacco pipe fragments have not been seen as
useful in the identification of social status in the
archaeological record. I suspect this is at least
partly because the usual procedure is to
determine which elements of material life are
indicators of higher status occupation, and to
consider their absence, or inverse value as
indicative of lower status occupation. That is not
necessarily wrong in methodological terms, but
the potential value of clay pipe fragments
indicates that the procedure may work equally
well in reverse. In terms of clay pipe use, the
presence of pipes with extremely long stems
would indicate the presence of upper class
smokers. A problem with recovering such stems
is that, unless you have all of the fragments, you
have no way of knowing how long the stem was —
if a fragment in the middle is missing, there will
be no way to match the two pieces of stem to one
another. On the other hand, when a pipe with a
much shorter stem is discarded, it is more likely
to be recoverable. This proved to be the case
with the pipe collection from the Boott Mills
boardinghouse — in several cases, single
fragments of several inches in length were
noted, with part of the pipe bowl at one end and
heavy tooth-wear at the other, indicating use of
short-stemmed pipes.
There was also evidence of modification of the
pipes before smoking. The pattern of tooth wear
indicated that pipes were less likely to see heavy
use until they had been modified by breaking off
the factory-made mouthpiece. There is no
question that the boardinghouse residents-
workers in the Lowell textile mills — preferred
short-stemmed pipes and modified the ones
that they purchased until they were satisfied with
them.
Ethnically-based smoking behavior is also
visible in the tobacco pipe material from The
Boott Mills boardinghouse. Irish presence is
indicated by the remains of a pipe bearing the
name of Wolf Tone, an Irish patriot executed by
the British in 1798. Several other pipes marked
"Home Rule" (and which may in fact have been
made in Canada or the United States) testify to
the strength of Irish political feeling, despite
having emigrated. At least one other pipe is
marked "Dhudeen," which is the Irish term for a
short pipe.
Thus far the only pipes displaying "legible"
evidence of ethnicity at the boarding house are
Irish (cf. Fussell 1983: 54-55 for "legible
clothing"). There are pipe fragments with as yet
unidentified designs and legends, but we cannot
be certain that these are ethnic. There may be
evidence in the collection that reflects the
presence of other ethnic groups in the
boardinghouses, but without the same kind of
clear evidence that we have for the Irish, the
ethnic identifications must remain tenuous, at
least for now. For example, several plastic
(imitation tortoise-shell) mouthpieces were
recovered. Both appear to be of what is known
as the "half bent" shape, a type consistent with
the composite pipes favored by immigrants from
Eastern Europe. Both stems were made to be
inserted into pipe bowls of another material
(which may even have been brier). Both were
very likely inexpensive, and both were used until
they were broken or worn through.
In contrast to the class and ethnic information
that is present in the boardinghouse pipe
material, there is as yet no evidence suggestive
of women's smoking behavior. This is almost
certainly because we have yet to determine that
smoking occurred among woman textile workers
in Lowell, to identify what the material
components of any such behavior might be, or in
what way they might be gender-specific. These
lacunae may best be addressed through
intensive research in Lowell newspapers and
oral history directed towards recovering
information on tobacco use.
In sum, archaeologists and students of
material culture have tended to neglect the
behavioral aspects of tobacco use and their
effect on the material record, and have
concentrated instead on the chronological uses
of the material itself. This chronological focus
has diverted attention from the period after ca.
1780, when material is less easily dated.
Unfortunately, this is also the period when in
tobacco use, the mediation of social class,
ethnicity, and gender through manipulation of
material culture is most clearly visible.
Information drawn from examination of clay
pipes translates back into behaviors that may
inform us about the class and ethnic context in
which the pipes were deposited. It may prove
possible as well, given a reorientation of research
Tobacco and Working-Class Culture 229
goals on the part of clay tobacco pipe scholars, to
gain such information for earlier periods.4
Summary
Smoking behavior has been used as a means
of constructing and communicating class,
ethnicity, and gender relationships through
manipulation of material culture. Material
objects, specifically white clay pipes, have been
used to express social and cultural statements —
among those statements, the distinctiveness of
the working classes, who modified their pipes to
make them as different as they could from
upper class models for practical reasons.
Use of smoking pipes as a communicative
element in class relations has involved making
them more visible in episodes of class conflict,
although they were apparently not themselves a
source of conflict. Similarly, ethnic differences
could be symbolized by tobacco-related
behavior. Gender appears to be the only area
where smoking itself could generate conflict.
This was because gender relations were bound
up in an ethic that linked smoking with sexuality,
and perceived tobacco use as a threat to
women's moral standing.
Overall, smoking had moral connotations, but
these were primarily situational and reflected
prevailing middle class attitudes concerning
appropriate leisure behavior. Violation of those
attitudes, rather than smoking itself, was the
objectionable element of behavior in situations
of conflict.
In approaching mundane working class
behavior such as smoking, archaeology provides
certain advantages. Through control of spatial
context, we may be certain that we are
examining the end products of a working class
behavior, and a behavior at that that is subject to
substantial bias in the documentary record. The
social context of boardinghouse life as we have
delineated it in this report disambiguates the
relationships between certain people and
certain objects, bringing the social behavior that
linked them into focus, in the case of a limited
number of artifacts. Clay pipes are by no means
the only artifacts that signal subcultural
differences, or find use in the construction of
selves, social classes, or cultures. Bond's work
with alcoholic beverage containers and the
drinking behavior that lay hidden behind a
facade of company respectability, and Ziesing's
study of apparel and the world of public display
(both elsewhere in this volume), indicate that
those artifacts operated as public symbols, as
well as fulfilling more mundane functions.
The approach used here has been a
contextual one. The combination of information
on the social, cultural and ethnographic contexts
of tobacco use drawn from the documentary
record, with a considerable body of theory on
leisure, material culture and symbols makes it
possible to generate a framework of
interpretation that returns pipes to their active,
systemic, cultural context, giving them a more
provocative role than that allowed them when
they are approached as mere markers of time in
the archaeological context. The use of a model
of intergroup relations based on cultural
hegemony, rather than the Dominant Ideology
Thesis, has permitted a fuller interpretation of
the complex processes of culture change, in
which those without money or influence have
occasionally commanded the power to create at
least part of their world.
"Snow white little instruments of comfort" had
great power to influence human thought and
action, power that was out of proportion to their
ubiquitous status as common artifacts involved
in day-to-day activities. Their material remains
provide the essential key to the meanings that
linked people with things and imbued them both
with that power.
Peter Pope's innovative discussion of tobacco use and its
material remains in 17th-century Ferryland,
Newfoundland (Pope 1988), is a fine example of such
research.
230 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Chapter 12
CONTEXTUAL ARCHEOLOGY AT THE BOOTT MILLS
BOARDINGHOUSE BACKLOTS
by G. K. Kelso, William F. Fisher, Stephen A. Mrozowski, and Karl J.
Reinhard
Most of the deposits investigated in the
original boardinghouse backlot excavations had
been subjected to post-habitation disturbance.
Macrofossil and pollen analysis were limited by
the number of interpretable samples available,
and phytolith analysis was not attempted. Some
macrofossil dietary and groundcover
information was recovered, but the
interpretation of the majority of the pollen data
had to be focused on defining the nature and
extent of this post-depositional manipulation of
the data context rather than reconstruction of
the millworker's leisure-time environment
(Mrozowski and Kelso 1987: 150-151).
The original analysis did suggest that changes
had occurred in the backlot groundcover which
might have resulted from documented changes
in the philosophy and practice of boardinghouse
management in 19th- and early 20th-century
Lowell (Bell 1987a: 67; Bond 1987: 53; Mrozowski
and Kelso 1987: 147). This should be clearly
recorded in undisturbed archeological deposits,
and it is reasonable to assume that evidence of
parallel changes in diet and health might also be
recovered. The following soil chemistry,
macrofossil, phytolith, parasite, and pollen
investigations of Boott Mills boardinghouse
backlots constitute a cross-disciplinary scientific
search for physical indicators of such socially-
driven changes in life style and landscape.
Palynology, Land Use, and Site Formation Processes in Urban Archeology:
The Boott Mills Boardinghouse Backlots, Lowell, Massachusetts
by G. K. Kelso and William F. Fisher
Introduction
No stratigraphic sequence incorporating the
complete occupation period at the Boott Mills
boardinghouses was recovered during the initial
1985 excavations in the backlots of the structures
fronting on John Street (Beaudry 1987a: 90).
Pollen analysis was confined to a profile of the 33
John Street cellar fill and a profile from a
postulated clothesline post hole containing ca.
1890 artifacts. The pollen type sequence within
the cellar fill shifted from grass dominance in
the deeper samples to wind-pollinated
Compositae (ragweed relatives) dominance in
the upper portion of the fill. Pollen concentration
values were highest at the bottom, implying that
the cellar fill sequence was reversed
stratigraphy. The backlot had apparently been
stripped to fill the cellar hole. The upper, grass-
dominated backlot deposits ended up in the
bottom of the cellar hole where their relatively
high pollen concentrations were protected by
the overburden, and the older, less polliferous
deposits originally at the bottom of the backlot
profile ended up on top of the sequence in and
over the cellar hole (Kelso 1987a: 145).
The postulated post hole appeared to have
been re-opened at one time, presumably to
remove the post. The hole was then allowed to
fill naturally, producing a sequence in which the
homogenized pollen spectra of the original
deeper fill is replaced by relatively high grass
frequencies that decline toward the top of the
profile as the wind-pollinated Compositae
counts increase (Kelso 1987a: 146). The sum of
these two profiles is a cultural/vegetational
history sequence in which early dominant
ragweeds in the 33 John Street backlot are
replaced by grass during the major portion of
the occupation. Ragweed populations
apparently recovered as grass declined post-
1890 (Kelso 1987a: 145-146). The late 19th-
century ragweed episode roughly coincided with
a demographic shift toward replacement of
natives by immigrants in the mill work force and
a functional/proprietary change in many
structures from corporation owned
231
232 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
boardinghouses to slumlord-managed
tenements and lodging houses. Structure
maintenance declined (Bond 1987: 40-41; Bell
1987a: 67), and the pollen data suggest slippage
in landscape standards as well.
Reverse stratigraphy and post holes are not
data sources in which one may place absolute
confidence. The perceived landscape-
ownership-occupancy connection in the pollen
spectra of the John Street boardinghouses
constitutes a hypothesis rather than a
conclusion. A primary objective of the pollen
analysis portion of the 1986 excavations was to
test this hypothesis in the adjoining backlots of
the similarity fated 45-48 James (later Sirk)
Street boardinghouses.
Documentary and Archeological
Background
The poorly-drained terrace above the
Merrimack upon which the Boott Mills
boardinghouses were constructed first appears
in the historical record as part of a ca. 1821
farmstead owned by an individual named
Nathan Tyler (Beaudry 1987a: 73). Kirk Boott
subsequently established his home on the plot.
The 1825 "Plan of the Land and Buildings
Belonging to the Merrimack Manufacturing
Company" (Figure 12-1) places the impressive
Boott mansion (Beaudry 1987a: figs. 7-1,7-2)
very close to the plot examined in this report,
and the 1837 inventory of Boott's estate provides
evidence for formal lawns in the form of a stone
lawn roller. What appears to be an extensive
garden arranged in distinct geometric plots is
depicted on the 1825 map, and the 1837
inventory indicates the existence of a separate
"seed room." This may have been a greenhouse
or potting shed. The inventory also records the
presence of livestock and provides evidence in
the form of harrows, scythes, rakes and
pitchforks for haymaking on the estate (Beaudry
1987a: 75).
Boott's mansion was relocated after his early
1837 death to make way for the ongoing (1835-
1839) erection of the Boott Mills boardinghouses.
These had variable histories, some undergoing
multiple changes in function and ownership over
the next 100 years (Clancey 1987). The No. 45-^8
James (later Sirk) Street boardinghouses were
owned by the Boott Mills Corporation
throughout their existence. Half the ells in the
backlot were removed between 1892 and 1906,
and the rest were gone by 1924. The block was
operated as boardinghouses, tenements, and
lodging houses until the company converted
them to storage in 1918 (Bond 1987: 41; Clancey
1987: 32). These particular boardinghouses were
torn down in April, 1934 (Clancey 1987: 32).
The demographic histories of the various
Boott Mills boardinghouses were also variable.
The original 1830s-1840s inhabitants of the
central, boardinghouse section of each unit were
largely native-born single women. The male
supervisors and their families were separately
housed in tenement units at the end of each
block. The numbers of both families and
unattached males increased in the 1850s though
the 1860s, although the families in the
tenements were largely native born, and the
women in the work force greatly outnumbered
the men. The numbers of foreign workers were
rising rapidly during this era, but the regulation
that mill workers live "on corporation" had been
dropped. The immigrants were just not living in
the boardinghouses (Bond 1987: 50). After 1880
this changed; by 1900, males equaled females in
number, and immigrants among the boarders
exceeded the native born (Bond 1987: 50-53).
Documents and archeology suggest that living
conditions changed parallel to demographic
shifts. The policy of "corporate paternalism" was
never rescinded, but enforcement was
apparently relaxed to some extent during the
immigrant worker era, and the documentary
record implies considerable casual waste
disposal in boardinghouse precincts (Bond 1989:
2-3). Archeology supports this interpretation.
The major portion of the debris recovered from
the backlot dates to the late, post-1890, portion
of the occupation (Dutton, this volume) and that
portion which can be attributed to a specific
social group was apparently deposited by
foreign-born males (Cook, this volume).
Methods
Level 3 in 45-48 James (Sirk) Street backlot lay
just under the recent parking lot blacktop. It was
capped with a thin, relatively continuous layer of
broken window glass from the dismantling of the
boardinghouses, and the occupation-period
deposits appeared to be largely intact. The
cultural deposits (levels 2 and 3) were rather
shallow, but it was possible to collect profiles of
useful length at several locations.
The following four profiles and a single sample
of special matrix were selected for analysis:
21N8W, northwest profile (Figures 12-2, 12-
8,12-9); 21N8W, northeast profile (Figures 12-2,
12-10, 12-12); Feature 61 profile (Figures 12-2,
12-14, 12-15); Feature 27 profile (Figures 12-3,
12-13); and Feature 65, apparent potting soil lens
(Figures 12-2, 12-13). The locations of these are
indicated on the site plan of Operation B (Figure
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 233
illll
i^bsss
Figure 12-1. The layout of Kirk Boott's estate as shown on "A Plan of the Land and
Buildings belonging to the Merrimack Manufacturing Company..." made in 1825 by
Geo. R. Baldwin. Excavation unit 21N/8W indicated by shading. (Courtesy Lowell
National Historical Park.)
234 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
*> 4
O
Q^
<^
a «...
S«>i Sl on
• •II BM8H Opvral.on B
□
0
o
0
OHO ,,t«
Figure 12-2. Operation B., unit 21N8W. Features 61 and 65 indicated by hatching.
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 235
* *M
omnn^^s7 ^ ^ ^
IS!
'I Sinn*
Soil S'ain
I ON OW un.t Number INE Corner)
<9c/*£=.
OWOll 8MBM Operation
Figure 12-3. Operation A. Feature 27 indicated by hatching.
236 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
12-2) and Operation A (Figure 12-3).
The pollen was extracted in the palynology
laboratory of the Boston University Center for
Archaeological Studies and followed
Mehringer's (1967) procedure. Residues were
mounted in glycerol for viewing, and analysis
was conducted at the Eastern Archeological
Field Laboratory, National Park Service, Boston,
Massachusetts. The pollen was identified at
400x with problematical grains examined under
oil immersion at lOOOx. A minimum of 400
pollen grains were tabulated for all samples. All
pine pollen grains were examined for the "belly
warts" that distinguish white pine (Pinus strobus)
from the other species of Pinus growing in New
England (Kapp 1969: 38). The pine data did not
prove significant at this particular site and were
not incorporated in the diagrams. The open line
bars in the pollen diagrams are based on relative
frequencies (percentages) computed from
separate sums for arboreal and non-arboreal
pollen types. This separation serves to
differentiate the normally tree-dominated
regional pollen contribution from the local,
largely herbaceous, pollen types to some extent
(Janssen 1973: 33) and reduces the statistical
distortions that the contributions of pollen types
reflecting different phenomena induce in each
other. It has the disadvantage of producing
possibly misleadingly high percentages in some
instances from small counts among the minor
types. Total sum diagrams (relative frequencies
based on the identifiable pollen of all types) are
sometimes of value, in conjunction with those
based on separate AP/NAP sums, in
ascertaining relationships between local and
regional vegetation change. The solid colored
portion of the diagrams records this measure.
Historical archeologists most frequently
encounter plants under English names in their
documentary sources. For their convenience the
common New England names for plant taxa are
employed in both the text and the diagrams. A
conversion table (Table 12-1) of vernacular and
Latin names is provided for those who wish to
follow the practice of the paleoecological
research community.
Pollen concentrations per gram of sample
were computed, following Benninghoff's (1962)
exotic pollen addition method as a check on
relative pollen preservation, but pollen
concentration figures were not computed for
individual taxa. These would not be meaningful
in the absence of chronological control over
sedimentation rate and might be mistaken for
pollen influx data. All pollen grains too
degraded to be identified were tabulated to
provide further control over corrosion factors.
Unidentifiable pollen grains were taken into
account in calculating pollen concentrations.
They were not incorporated in any sum from
which the frequencies of individual types were
computed, because the arboreal or non-arboreal
origin of unidentifiable pollen grains cannot be
computed. The data for unidentifiable pollen, as
a percentage of total identifiable and
unidentifiable pollen, and the data for corroded
oaks, a prominent pollen type that retains its
identity while readily degrading (van Zeist 1967:
49), are presented in the diagrams. The terms
"corroded" and "degraded" are used
interchangeably here and refer to any kind of
pollen deterioration other than tearing. They are
not intended as references to the specific classes
of deterioration defined under these terms by
Cushing (1964) and Havinga (1984).
Site Formation Processes
Much of our interpretation of the Boott Mills
boardinghouse backlots is based on analysis of
site formation processes. Two aspects of the site
formation process that affect the pollen record
can be palynologically recognized. One is the
nature of matrix origin: normal soil profile
development versus episodic fill. The second is
natural post-depositional modification of the
pollen spectra. Two kinds of post-depositional
changes are evident in the pollen record itself:
pollen movement and pollen destruction.
Several agencies are involved in each.
Pollen Movement
In a lake or marsh profile a palynologist can
assume, with certain exceptions (Webb 1973),
that older pollen occurs in deeper samples
because the deposition of the matrix and the
deposition of the pollen are roughly
contemporaneous events. This does not hold
true in terrestrial profiles. Pollen in soils is
moved downward by percolating groundwater.
Progressively older pollen is found toward the
bottom of normal soil profiles because pollen
leaching outpaces stratigraphic matrix
accumulation (Erdtman 1969: 147; Dimbleby
1985: 4-9). At the same time, earthworms move
pollen up and down in the deposit (Walch,
Rowley, and Norton 1970: 42).
Dimbleby's (1985: fig. 3) schematic diagram of
the resulting pollen profile presented in Figure
12-4. Most of the older pollen has been leached
to the bottom of the profile, but some has been
moved back up by earthworms. The youngest
pollen is found at the top of the soil, although a
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 237
Table 12-1. Vernacular and Latin names of plants.
Pinus - pine
Gramineae - grass
Picea - spruce
Avena fatua - wild oats
Tsuga - hemlock
Cerealia - European cereal grass
Cupressaceae - cedar /juniper
Quercus - oak
Chenopodiaceae - goosefoot family
Fagus - beech
Castanea - chestnut
Compositae - ragweed family
Betula - birch
Artemisia - wormwood
Alnus - alder
Ambrosia-type = wind-pollinated Compositae
Corylus - hazel
Oystra - hornbeam
Aster-type = insect-pollinated Compositae
Carpinus - blue beech
Acer saccharinum -silver maple
Liguliflorae - dandelion type Compositae
Acer saccharum - sugar maple
Acer rubrum - red maple
Cardus - thistle
Platnus - sycamore
Cruciferae - mustard family
Juglans - walnut
Umbelliferae - parsley family
Carya - hickory
Leguminoseae - pea family
Salix - willow
Rumex acetosella - sheep sorrel
Populus - poplar
Fraxinus - ash
Rumex mexicanus - dock
Ulmus-elm
Polygonaceae - smartweed family
Celtis - hackberry
Morus - mulberry
Labitae - mint family
Tilia - bass wood
Solanaceae - nightshade family
Rhamnus - buckthorn
Nemopanthus - mountain holly
Solatium - nightshade
Ilex - holly
Physalis - ground cherry
Robinia - black locust
Rosaceae - rose family
Gleditsia - honey locust
Rosa palustris - marsh rose
Cannabinaceae - hemp family
Scrophulariaceae - snapdragon family
Caryophyllaceae - pink family
Sambucus - Elderberry
Lythrum - purple loosestrife
Primulaceae - primrose family
Apocynaceae - Indian hemp family
Urtica - nettle
Thalictrum - meadow rue
Ranunculaceae - buttercup family
Onagraceae - evening primrose family
Plantago-lanceolata - lance-leaved plantain
Plantago-major type - broad-leaved plantain
Onagraceae - evening primrose family
Saxifragaceae - saxifrage family
Ribes - gooseberry/currant
Liliacea - lily family
Malvaceae - mallow family
Vitaceae - vine family
Ericaceae - heath family
Cyperaceae - sedge family
Typha - cattail
Campanulaceae - bluebell family
Euphorbiaceae - spurge family
Ephedra - joint fir
Phragmigtes - reed grass (reeds)
Undetermined - not recognized
Undeterminable - too degraded to recognize
238 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
APF
20 40 60 80 100%
i_ ' | | _ ■
THEORETICAL DISTRIBUTION IN SOIL OF
POLLENS OF DIFFERENT AGES
Cafter Dimbleby 1985)
Pollen concentration
per gram of matrix
6000 4000
2000
Percent of pollen
which appears degraded
0 0 20 40 60 80 100%
THEORETICAL POLLEN CONCENTRATION
AND DEGRADATION IN A SOIL PROFILE
Figure 12-4. Theoretical pollen concentration, degradation and differential age
distribution patterns in soil.
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 239
few grains have been leached or worm
transported to the bottom of the deposit. Pollen
of intermediate age is appropriately
concentrated in the middle of the profile, with a
few earthworm deposited grains at the top and
bottom. Pollen stratigraphy has been blurred
but not destroyed (Dimbleby 1985: 2-11).
Pollen Degradation
Pollen is destroyed by the oxygen in aerated
groundwater (Tschudy 1969: 95) and by aerobic
fungi (Goldstein 1960: 453). Both the amount of
pollen present in a given unit of matrix and the
condition of the surviving pollen grains decline
with the length of time the pollen is exposed to
these agents of degradation. This may be seen
on the left of Dimbleby's (1985: fig. 3) schematic
(Figure 12-4,top), where the absolute pollen
frequency (i.e., pollen concentration) of the
younger pollen at the top of the profile is much
higher than that of the older pollen at the
bottom. When tabulated, the numbers of pollen
grains which are recognizable as pollen but
which are too degraded to identify are more
numerous in deeper (i.e., older) samples in a
normal soil profile where the quantities of
surviving pollen grains (i.e., pollen
concentration) are smaller (Kelso 1987b: fig. 1;
Kelso, Mrozowski, and Fisher 1987: fig. 6-2).
Palynological Record Formation Patterns
The number of possible combinations of
cultural site formation processes and natural
matrix accumulation processes and pollen
record formation processes should be quite
large. Several patterns whose validity can be
supported with archeological or documentary
data have already been recognized.
The Natural Profile Deposition Pattern
A North American historic-era example of
Dimbleby's (1985: fig. 3) previously discussed
normal soil profile development curve is
presented in our Figure 12-5. These pollen data
are drawn from a core taken on a formerly
forested hillside adjacent to the site of George
Washington's 1754 Fort Necessity battleground.
The forest was cut off and the area converted to
pasture sometime between 1856 and 1880. This
produced a leached pollen spectra sequence of
arboreal pollen (forest), weed pollen (clearance
interval) and grass (pasture) pollen from the
bottom to the top of the profile. The
resemblance of the Fort Necessity sequence to
Dimbleby's model of ancient, intermediate, and
recent pollen in a soil profile is unmistakable.
The Fort Necessity pollen concentration curve
also confoims to Dimbleby's APF model, and
distribution of unidentifiable pollen at Fort
Necessity falls into the predicted pattern with
more corroded pollen at the top than at the
bottom of the profile.
Pollen movement is not always evident in
normal cultural sedimentation sequences.
Leaching was recognized only at the bottom and
top of a 17th- through 19th-century profile from
downtown Boston (Kelso and Beaudry n.d.: fig. 7)
and at the beginning and end of the 19th- and
20th-century site formation processes in the
backlot of profile at the Kirk Street Agents'
House in Lowell, Massachusetts (Kelso,
Mrozowski, and Fisher 1987: 108, 112, figs. 6-2, 6-
3). The homogenization of spectra characteristic
of earthworm activity zones (Havinga 1974: 451)
has been recognized among the corroded oak
data from Fort Necessity (Kelso 1987b: 1) but has
yet to be reported from a North American urban
site. It is possible thai sedimentation proceeds
too quickly in the urban milieu for pollen
movement to register. It is also possible that soil
compaction by foot traffic prevented effective
leaching and that contamination by industrial
and household waste, coal dust for instance,
rendered soils inhospitable to worms.
When leaching occurs in slowly aggrading
profiles it can be analytically advantageous,
because it may serve to separate successive
spectra that would otherwise be unrecognizable
within the same matrix. The historical pasture
grass and subsequent 1843-1845 construction
period weeds in the glacial sand at the bottom of
the Square "E" profile at the Kirk Street Agents'
House (Kelso, Mrozowski, and Fisher 1987: fig. 6-
2) and the whole Fort Necessity sequence are
cases in point. Such leaching phenomena are, of
course, palynologically visible only when there
has been a chronological change in the
contributing flora.
The Episodic Fill Deposition Pattern
An example of the pollen spectrum of an
episodic fill is provided by level 9 at the top of a
profile taken in the Wilkinson Hardware Store
backlot in the central business district of Boston,
Massachusetts (Figure 12-6). This deposit was
introduced when the present Blackstone Block
of buildings was constructed ca. 1820-1825
(Kelso and Beaudry n.d.). In level 9, pollen
concentrations are highest at the bottom of the
level, while pollen "too degraded to recognize"
and the proportion of "corroded oaks," a
240 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
depth in cm
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Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 241
prominent type which retains its identity while
readily degrading (van Zeist 1967: 49), are
highest in the upper portion of the profile. No
pollen at all was recovered from an additional,
undiagrammed, sample at the top of the
sequence. Here the pollen at the bottom of the
level was protected by the overburden from the
corrosive agents that progressively destroyed
pollen as they worked their way down from the
top. The result was a mirror image of the
sequence predictable in a normal soil profile
development. This pattern may serve as the
hallmark of an episodic fill upon which no
ground cover developed.
The Penetration of a Fill Pattern
Modification of the pollen spectrum of an
episodic fill by a ground cover developing on top
of the fill is illustrated by level 2 at the top of the
Square J profile (1843-1930) from the backlot of
the Kirk Street Agents' House, Lowell,
Massachusetts (Figure 12-7). This layer is
identified as a fill by the abrupt change in pollen
concentration at the level 3/level 2 interface
(Kelso, Mrozowski, and Fisher 1987: 112). The
most important type in the spectrum of the
original fill was grass, while the ground cover that
developed on top of the fill was dominated by
the wind-pollinated Compositae (i.e., ragweed).
There was less tree pollen and more cereal
pollen in the original fill than was characteristic
of the pollen rain at the Kirk Street Agents'
House.
Sample 14/15 is a highly organic, intrusive lens
and should be disregarded. When this is done
the pollen concentrations are higher in the
samples at the top of the layer and resemble
those of a naturally developed deposit. Pollen
degradation measures are, however, also higher
at top and indicate corrosive agents working
their way down from the top, as in an episodic fill.
The depth of the penetration of both these
agents of destruction and the pollen contributed
by the later ground cover is indicated by the
grass/wind-pollinated Compositae shift at
sample 15, by the notch in the cereal pollen
spectrum between sample 15, and by the surface
and the block of high arboreal pollen
percentages extending from the surface down
through level 15.
Results
21N/8W Northwest Profile
Artifact data indicate that this profile covers
the entire 1830s to 1930s boardinghouse
occupation period. Three gross archeological
levels are evident at the sampling locus (Figure
12-7). The oldest of these is the sandy deposit
(level 1) at the base of the profile. It contained
no artifacts and appeared to be glacial in origin.
Pollen samples 1 through 4 (8 cm total) were
taken from this layer. Level 2 is the major
occupation layer in the profile. It was 18 cm
thick where pollen samples 5 through 11 were
taken. The artifact content of level 2 suggests
that it spans the last three quarters of the 19th
century. The majority of the cultural materials
were recovered from the upper few centimeters
of the layer and appear to have been deposited
post-1890 (Dutton, this volume). Level 3 at the
top of the profile was 6 cm thick where samples
12 and 13 were taken. Its cultural inventory was
dominated by artifacts dating to the first quarter
of the 20th century (Dutton, this volume).
The northwest profile pollen spectra (Figure
12-9) correlate well with the documentary record
of land use (Bond 1989: 2-3), with the matrix
stratigraphy of the profile locus, and with the
archeology based material culture history of the
backlot (cf. Dutton, this volume; Cook, this
volume). Pollen concentrations increased from
the bottom to the top of the level 1 (glacial sand)
as quantities of pollen grains "too corroded to
recognize" declined. This registers a slow,
normal soil profile development process with
normal pollen leaching and degradation. Level
1 was neither a typical urban active occupation-
period archeological stratum (in which
development is too rapid for leaching and pollen
corrosion), nor an episodic fill (in which the
patterns of these phenomena might be
reversed).
The presence of grass (Gramineae) pollen
resembling that of reeds (cf. Phragmites) and
sedge (Cyperaceae) pollen in the glacial
appearing sand of level 1 confirms Beaudry's
(1987: 73) assessment that the locus was poorly
drained when first observed in the historical
record. Sedge pollen is not widely dispersed
(Handel 1976: 223), and these counts appear to
indicate the persistence of undeveloped
conditions on or very near the sampling locus.
Clumps of reed grass have aesthetic appeal, and
moist areas could also have been part of the
Boott estate landscaping design.
The wind-pollinated Compositae are
dominant at the bottom of level 1. This type
declines steadily toward its nadir for the profile
at the top of the deposit. The insect-pollinated
Compositae and dock (Rumex mexicanut-type)
frequencies increase slightly as those of the
wind-pollinated Compositae decrease, while the
representation of grass rises as a block in
242 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
SCOTTOW'S DOCK TERRESTRIAL PROFILE
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
CORROSION MEASURES VS. POLLEN CONCENTRATION
,«°6e
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FEATURE 19
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Figure 12-6. Pollen concentration and degradation patterns, Scottov/s Dock, Boston,
Massachusetts, ca. 1640-1820.
Contextual Archaeology at the Board inghouses 243
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244 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 245
samples 2 through 4. Ragweed (Ambrosia spp.)
is among the most pollen prolific wind-
pollinated members of the Compositae family
and probably contributed the majority of the
wind-pollinated Compositae pollen in the
profile. Ragweeds are the dominant weeds in
agricultural fields because they can tolerate the
harsh high temperature and moisture regimen
of newly-plowed ground (Bazzaz 1974). Weeds
such as dock and the insect-pollinated
Compositae (the Tubliflorae in Europe) are more
prominent in the disturbed but uncultivated
waste ground around the periphery of fields and
along roadsides (Behre 1983: fig. 2).
In other sequences where grass has replaced
ragweed, a reduction in human-caused soil
disturbance is historically and archeologically
documented (Kelso and Schoss 1983: 73; Kelso
1987b: 1). An opposite sequence of grass
declining as ragweed counts grew larger
indicated increasing soil disturbance at another
site (Kelso, Mrozowski, and Fisher 1987: 107). In
normal historic era sequences these shifts have
been gradual (Kelso and Schoss 1983: fig. 20;
Kelso, Mrozowski, and Fisher 1987: fig.6-2), even
where we know that pasture was the intended
product of a conscious cultural process (Kelso
1987b: figs 1-4). In the boardinghouse 21N8W
northwest profile the wind-pollinated
Compositae decline gradually, but the increase
in grass pollen is quite abrupt. The shift in wind-
pollinated Compositae is consistent with the
gradual leaching of pollen down through the
matrix profile that is indicated by pollen
concentration and degradation measures. The
change in grass is not. A unique circumstance in
which old wind-pollinated Compositae pollen
from a defunct population gradually leached out
of the profile while grass pollen was introduced
into the system from a new, rapidly developed
population seems to be indicated. This suggests
that the grass was planted. It probably did not
grow in Nathan Tyler's pre-Lowell pasture.
European cereal pollen (cerealia or cereal-type)
and corn (Zea mays) pollen from livestock
manure correlated with grass in four widely
spaced cores at Fort Necessity, and there were
more kinds of weeds and more pollen of
individual weedy taxa than occurs here in Lowell
(Kelso 1987b: figs. 1-4).
We may have either Kirk Boott's lawn or his
hayfield reflected in the level 1 grass pollen
counts (Beaudry 1987a: 75). Hayfields were
actively planted as part of crop rotation during
the 19th century (Russell 1976: 279, 313). If a
hayfield is recorded in the level 1, it was never
manured in the best practice but neither was it
permitted go to weeds as was often the case
(Russell 1976: 366). The 1825 plan (Figure 12-1)
of the Boott estate overlain on the plots where
the Boott Mills boardinghouses were
constructed (Beaudry 1987a: fig. 7-2) suggests
that our sampling locus is so close to the former
site of the mansion house that the grass pollen
that dominates level 1 most probably reflects
lawn.
There is a third possible interpretation.
Carefully tended oval lawns (Figure 12-10) are
depicted in the 1852 mill yard by Gleason's
Pictorial (Beaudry 1987a: 12, fig. 3-2). The
possibility exists that the grass of layer 1 post-
dates Kirk Boott and that there was an element
of fact in the obvious public relations effort of
the Gleason's illustration (Figure 12-11). A
problem with the lawn hypothesis is that
earthworms should be present in sod. The
relatively uniform grass, oak (Quercus), total
arboreal pollen and "corroded oak" frequencies
resemble the worm-homogenized horizons
described by Havinga (1973) and Dimbleby
(1985: figs. 6, 7), but these do not carry through in
the other spectra.
At the Kirk Street Agents' House there was
evidence for construction-related soil
disturbance in the deepest occupation deposits,
level 6 of Square "E" (Kelso, Mrozowski, and
Fisher 1987: 108). In the boardinghouse backlot
the block of grass frequencies in level 1 were not
distorted by such activities, and there are no
indications of leaching from level 2 and no well
defined zone of high frequencies at the top of
level 1, such as often marks a buried surface in
profiles (Dimbleby 1985: 45). Sod could have
protected level 1 from leaching and disturbance
during the boardinghouse construction interval,
but it must have been removed or the profile
cleanly truncated before deposition of level 2
commenced. The absence of any trace of
humus at the top of level 1 suggests that this was
the case.
Artifact data suggest that level 2 is associated
with the boardinghouse rather than with the
Boott estate. Grass declines abruptly and the
wind-pollinated Compositae portion of the
spectrum increases at the bottom of the level.
Goosefoot (Chenopodiaceae), insect-pollinated
Compositae, and vine (Vitaceae) frequencies
also increase at the base of level 2, but the
percentages of virtually all non-arboreal pollen
types are relatively stable up to sample 10.
Except for sample 7, which was an intrusive lens
of glacial sand, pollen concentrations rise
through the level, and the quantities of pollen
"too degraded to identify" decline in a fairly
orderly manner. This was a normal matrix
accumulation situation in which ground cover
246 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
was relatively stabile from construction in the
1830s up to the last decade of the 19th century.
Weeds were predominant over grass in the
backlot. No attempt was made to develop any
particular kind of ground cover, but this does not
mean that the backlot was unkempt.
Comparative data provide a general estimate
of the nature of the ground cover. The deposits
are roughly contemporaneous with those of the
Kirk Street Agents' House backlot, yet much less
trash was deposited in the boardinghouse
backlots than behind that higher socio-
economic class dwelling (Dutton, this volume).
The presence of European cereal and corn
pollen in level 2 suggests disposal of some
organic waste in the backlot, but there are many
fewer grains of these types here than in the Kirk
Street backlot, even compared to the period
when that structure served as a non-Boott
Corporation boardinghouse (Beaudry 1987b: 27).
There were only 21 non-arboreal pollen types
attributable to weedy taxa in this boardinghouse
backlot profile compared to 31 in the Square "E"
sequence behind the agent's dwelling, and the
majority of those found at the boardinghouse
were represented by much smaller pollen
percentages. Dandelion-type (Liguliflorae) is a
good example. It was present in grassy level 1,
absent from the boardinghouse occupation
period level 2, and reappeared in weedy, post-
habitation level 3. The general impression
derived from these spectra is that of a relatively
barren plot that was maintained to present an
orderly, utilitarian appearance over a lengthy
period. This is consistent with the Boott Mills
management's pragmatic, instrumental
approach to employee housing under the
principal of corporate paternalism that Bond
(1987, 1989) documents.
Ground cover in the backlot changed in the
late 19th century. Artifact deposition, especially
debris associated with foreign-born males,
increased toward the top of level 2 (infra:
Chapters 3, 12). Contemporaneous increases in
wind-pollinated Compositae frequencies and
further declines in the grass pollen percentages
are evident in the pollen spectra calculated from
non-arboreal sums in samples 10 and 11. Pollen
concentrations rise rather abruptly at this point,
and the lack of a parallel increase in wind-
pollinated Compositae percentages based on
the sum of all pollen, AP and NAP, can be
attributed to statistical suppression by the
increase in the elm (Ulmus) pollen contribution
in these same samples. The spectra appear to
reflect a real further expansion in the local weed
population at the expense of grass in the backlot.
The backlot evidently became a little disorderly,
but the changes recorded here are much
smaller than those that might be anticipated
from the published descriptions of tenements
and lodging houses managed by slum lords such
as Saiman Sirk (Bell 1987:a 67; Bond, 1989: 9).
The pollen data imply that maintenance
standards were not abandoned in Boott
Corporation managed properties, they just
slipped a little.
Maintenance slippage in the Boott Mills
operation may not have been restricted to the
boardinghouses. A single grain of cattail (Typha)
pollen was noted in sample 5 at the bottom of
level 2. This pollen grain should date to the 2nd
quarter of the 19th century. A cluster of small
counts of cattail pollen occurs in samples 9, 10,
11, and 12. These samples date to the late 19th
and early 20th centuries. Cattails prefer rooting
in shallow water, and the closest source for this is
the Eastern Canal, adjacent to the
boardinghouses on the north. Water power for
the Boott Mills was augmented by steam
engines in the 1859 to 1873 period (Beaudry
1987:a 11). The establishment of cattail
populations in the canal thereafter suggests
negligence which permitted silt to build up in
the canal and/or vegetation to become
established between the stones.
The depositional environment of the backlot
changed again in the 20th century. Percentages
of individual herb pollen types based on the
non-arboreal sum in samples 12 and 13 differ
little from those of 19th-century samples 10 and
11, but pollen concentrations decline abruptly
from almost 16,000 to less than 6,000 pollen
grains per gram of matrix. Such a pollen
disposition suggests that the kinds of herbs in
and around the boardinghouse backlot
remained roughly the same but that there were
a lot fewer of them. Pollen concentrations are
normally higher in the four centimeters of a
profile nearest the surface, and the high pollen
concentrations in samples 10 and 11 (2 cm each)
are comparable to Dimbleby's (1985: 45) buried
surface. It normally requires deeper burial to
protect such a surface (Dimbleby 1985: 60), and
the inability of oxygen and aerobic fungi to
penetrate these 4 cm suggests special
conditions. Soil compaction seems the to be the
explanation most consistent with the reduction
in backlot ground cover. In contradistinction,
the proportions of both pollen grains "too
degraded to identify" and "corroded oak"
increase abruptly in the upper 4 cm of the
profile. A zone of high pollen degradation like
that evident in samples 12 and 13 can reflect
aeration of the surface matrix through
continuous, shallow soil disturbance (Kelso
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouscs 247
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Figure 12-9. Relative pollen frequencies, 21N/8W, northwest profile.
248 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
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Contextual Archaeology at the Board inghouses 249
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250 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
1987b: 4, fig. 4). Between 1918 and ca. early 1934
the Boott Mills boardinghouses at 45-48 James
(Sirk) Street served as storage accommodations
(Clancey 1987: 32). The constellation of
spectrum features characteristic of level 3
indicates a barren, slowly (if at all) aggrading,
compacted deposit with a frequently, but
shallowly, disturbed surface that is consistent
with the loading yard of such a facility.
The arboreal pollen of urban sites is more
difficult to interpret than the non-arboreal
spectra. It starts out at a higher altitude where
wind velocities are greater and it is less subject
to vegetative filtration. Arboreal pollen in a non-
forested region generally reflects regional rather
than local vegetation (Janssen 1973: 33). Little
patterned variation is evident among urban
arboreal pollen spectra, and local ornamental
trees have yet to be reported among urban
spectra. Except as a foil in assessing the relative
density of local ground cover (Kelso n.d.; Kelso
and Beaudry n.d.), arboreal pollen in urban
matrices has provided few significant land-use
data.
The Boott Mills boardinghouse backlots may
be an exception. Three pollen types, oak, pine
(Pinus), and elm, display the high frequency,
high amplitude variations characteristic of local
pollen spectra (Janssen 1973: 34). The peaks of
elm frequencies in samples 5 and 6 and 9-11
coincide with peaks of arboreal pollen in the
total sum, suggesting that there were real
increases in the contributions of this type during
these intervals. If Sample 5 dates to ca. 1836 and
sample 12 dates to ca. 1919, each rising and
falling phase in the level 2 arboreal pollen ratio
could have consumed 40 years. This is adequate
for the maturation of an elm tree (Fowells 1965),
and it appears that these spectra record the
development and demise of two generations of
local ornamental trees no more than 300 yards
from the sampling locus (Janssen 1973: 33). Oak
and pine dominate the arboreal spectra of level
1 but decline abruptly at the level 1 /level 2
interface. Both types increase for a period in the
middle of level 2 and in level 3 at the top of the
profile, with pine most prominent in level 2 and
oak increasing most in level 3. This distribution
constitutes a rough mirror image of the elm
profile and suggests that pine and oak were part
of the regional rather than the local pollen
spectrum and that their frequencies were
responding statistically to real changes in the
elm contribution. Whether these elms were
intentional ornamental plantings or natural
intrusives cannot be determined from the pollen
type itself.
Buckthorn (Rhamnus) is a low tree now most
often noted at the edges of secondary woodland.
Its pollen is dispersed more like non-arboreal
than arboreal types and reflects local rather than
regional vegetation (Kelso and Beaudry n.d.).
The expansion of the pollen contribution of this
taxon parallel to that of the elms suggests that
the shrubby conditions often evident on urban
lot borders were developing in the vicinity of the
boardinghouses.
It is also worth noting that chestnut (Castanea)
and hickory (Carya) are much better
represented in levels 2 and 3 than in level 1.
Both trees were prominent in the European
contact era forest of New England (Braun 1950),
but neither is well represented in the pollen
spectra of lake sequences. The counts of these
types in the boardinghouse backlot appear to be
derived from urban ornamentals rather from the
regional pollen rain. The location of the parent
trees relative to the boardinghouses cannot be
determined, but the uniformity of the spectra,
compared to those of elm, suggests a source
area broad enough for homogenization of the
pollen contributions of individual or discrete
groups of emitters. Janssen's (1973: 33) data
suggest a 300-yard cut-off for recognizing point
sources in unforested areas, and the uniformity
of the chestnut and hickory spectra suggest that
the counts reflect the tree population of the town
as a whole rather than the immediate vicinity of
the boardinghouses (Janssen 1973: 33).
The vine family does not fit either the arboreal
or non-arboreal pollen category well. As woody
perennials, their populations should not respond
as rapidly to cultural change as the annual herbs
that contribute most of the non-arboreal pollen
classification. Vines climb, but the majority do
not reach the altitudes from which the arboreal
pollen that constitutes the major portion of the
regional pollen spectrum is launched. In most
sites the question is moot. Vine family pollen is
not massively produced nor widely dispersed. It
is relatively rare in soil samples of any kind and
its occurrences are generally unpatterned.
The Boott Mills boardinghouse vine pollen
counts are unusual. Only a few grains were
found in level 1, and the type is absent or
irregularly represented in the deeper samples of
level 2. In sample 8 and above, however, it is
present in noticeable amounts in all counts and
reaches 6% of sample 10. This pattern suggests
the presence of a few plants early in the
occupation and development of a significant
local vine population during the latter half of the
occupation (level 2) and storehouse interval
(level 3). Other spectra suggest that the
boardinghouse backlot was bare and utilitarian,
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 251
while the worklot of the storehouse period was
barren and subject to heavy traffic. It seems
unlikely that either grapes or ground covering
vines growing within the backlot contributed this
pollen. At present both the rail along the edge of
the Eastern Canal (between the boardinghouses
and the mill) and the south wall of the mill itself
are covered with Boston ivy (Parthenocissus
tricuspidata). It is possible that some of these
ornamentals, Asiatic members of the vine
family, were growing on the boardinghouses or
ells as well as on the mills. The level 2 vine
pollen counts suggest that mill management
may have made efforts to soften the utilitarian,
institutional architecture they had erected with
such climbing vines at a relatively early date. It
is also possible, if not probable, that these vines,
the previously discussed buckthorn, and
perhaps some of the chestnuts, hickories, and
elms, simply reflect development of the normal,
tolerated but perhaps not encouraged,
northeastern urban flora on the farmland that
had been stripped to create the city of Lowell in
the early 19th century.
21N/8W, Northeast Profile
Level 3 was not observed at this profile
location, and the window glass cap deposited on
the backlot during dismantling of the
boardinghouse directly overlay level 2 (Figure
12-12). Level 2 appeared rather homogeneous,
displaying none of the color variations and
texture lenses evident in the northwest profile.
The profile location is considered to be a feature
of some sort (David H. Dutton, personal
communication, 1989), even though no pit edges
or other feature indicators were evident in the
excavation wall. The pollen data (Figure 12-10)
concur with this assessment but suggest that
there was some complexity to the development
of the feature fill.
The northeast profile pollen concentration
and "corroded oak" and "too degraded to
recognize" measures suggest three deposition
stages in the matrix profile. The earliest stage
corresponds to the level 1 (glacial?) sand at the
bottom of the profile and is characterized by a
very regular sequence in which pollen
preservation declines down through the layer
while pollen concentrations get larger toward the
top. This appears to record the normal
leaching/degradation pattern of a natural
matrix development process of the sort that was
evident in the northwest profile data. The counts
of the individual taxa in the northeast profile
level 1, however, differ markedly. Dock,
European cereal type, chestnut, hickory and elm
frequencies were all low in the northwest profile
while reed and sedge counts were relatively high.
This arrangement is preserved only in the
deepest one or two samples of the northeast
profile. Even in those samples these types are
not consistent across the spectrum, while no
patterns are evident among the grass, wind-
pollinated Compositae, pine, and oak
percentages. In contrast these were significant
in interpreting level 1 in the northwest profile.
Later, boardinghouse period pollen appears to
have penetrated level 1 in this northeast profile
without seriously disrupting Boott mansion era
concentration and degradation patterns. The
quantity need not have been large because level
1 concentrations were low, but it was sufficient to
largely mask the pollen spectrum of the earlier
period.
Samples 4 through 8 in the bottom half of level
2 constitutes the second depositional interval in
the 21N/8W northeast profile (Figure 12-10). It
is characterized by pollen concentrations, which
increase abruptly at the lower interface of the
level at sample 4 and continue to rise irregularly
until they drop off with equal suddenness above
sample 7. Both the "corroded oak" and "too
degraded to identify" are stable in the deepest
two samples but rife moderately in samples 6
and 7. This distribution of pollen preservation
measures suggests an episodic fill, and the
pollen concentration pattern suggests the
presence of a ground cover or, at least a local
pollen input to the top of the fill, which exceeded
the average pre-deposition pollen content of the
fill. A brief peak of total arboreal pollen in
sample 7 among the AP/NAP ratios suggests
that some of the input was arboreal, but a single
high count may be coincidental.
The third 21N/8W depositional zone
incorporates samples 8 through 12 at the top of
the profile. It is characterized by pollen
concentrations that drop off abruptly and then
remain relatively stable in the upper fill. The
percentages of "corroded oak" and total pollen
"too corroded to identify" rise toward the top of
the profile, but the apparent trend in this last
category is the product of a single low count and
may not be real. A definite change in the matrix
depositional regimen is indicated, and samples 9
through 12 probably originated in an episodic
fill. The profile at this location has been
truncated. The sheet deposit of broken window
glass from the 1934 dismantling of the
boardinghouse directly overlies level 2. Level 3
is missing. Some of this pollen zone was
probably also lost, and we cannot ascertain the
later ground cover history at this locus.
252 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
0 5 10
scale in
centimeters
Window glass layer 1934
LEVEL 2
19th C
LEVEL 1
Glacial sand
Figure 12-12. Palynologist's field sketch: soil stratigraphy and pollen column location,
21N/8W, northeast profile.
Contextual Archaeology at the Board inghouses 253
t£ •*•* O*
Non- Arboreal Pollen
/ /
»* * * »!>v A . . *,* £ *° <?° " J- a <,tf
D
r
F"
% based on total pollen sum ■■■=) % based on AP or NAP sum only • Single pollen grains
Figure 12-13. Relative pollen frequencies. Feature 27 and Feature 65.
254 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
ARBOREAL POLLEN
jjP
«■» „<* /" „*'
22%, 4%. 53b
3.%° 8%.?% . .3.*. 3*. 4.% .2,%. .3*0 2.0 33% ;
/>// V.aV /
yi^iiTT^T¥TitTi ff) f
□ rr~~3 * n 1 • 0 • • o
0 20 40 60 76% n m
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 r 1 ■ 1
P
*=ihb iDtirtiprittx im iiiiq r^ &
NON-ARBOREAL POLLEN
IIUtllllUIPD:
sed on total pollen sun-
% Based on AP or NAP sum only
• Single pollen grain
Figure 12-14. Relative pollen frequencies. Feature 61.
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 255
Feature 27
Feature 27 was an oval, 60 cm x 160 cm,
apparent former pit just north of the 45 James
(Sirk) Street cellar stairs in Operation A (Figure
12-3). The fill stratigraphy wa& amorphous, and
the few artifacts recovered provided no
functional data. There were no new types, but
the arrangement of the pollen spectra does
provide some data on the origin of the feature fill
(Figure 12-13).
Pollen concentrations, although irregular are
much lower at the top of the profile than at the
bottom, while the "corroded oak" and "too
degraded to recognize" categories indicate that
pollen preservation was much better at the
bottom of the deposit than at the top. Such data
suggest the "penetration of a fill pattern" rather
than the "natural profile development pattern"
described in the introduction. This
interpretation, however, appears improbable
because it would require the agents of pollen
degradation to penetrate about 26 cm of fill in
feature 27 while noticeably influencing only the
top 4 cm of the 21W/8N profile and only the
upper 6 cm of the 21 W/8N northwest profile and
feature 61.
The distributions of the individual types
suggest something different. Sedge, grass, oak,
pine and alder (Alnus), were most prominent at
the bottom of the natural 21W/8N profile, while
wind-pollinated Compositae, chestnut, dock, elm
and vine family were low in level 1 compared to
levels 2 and 3 of the 21W/8N sequence. These
relationships are inverted in feature 27. The
depressed pollen concentrations seen in level 3
of 21W/8N ended up on the very bottom of the
feature 27 pit. These were followed by the high
pollen concentrations of upper level 2, the
progressively lower concentrations of deeper
matrix recorded in 21W/8N, and the sedge and
lowest pollen concentrations of the 21N/8W
natural level 1 as a cap for feature 27. The
correlations here are not exact, and some of the
frequencies involved are admittedly small, but
they do appear to reflect reversed stratigraphy.
The feature 27 excavation was not filled with the
same dirt that was removed to create it. Some
other part of the backlot was mined for this
purpose. Why this was done is not evident, but
the proximity of the feature to the cellar
foundation suggested to Beaudry that a
troublesome tree might have been removed. In
such a case the hole left by the stump would
require extra dirt. The presence of what appears
to be a set of buttons from a single garment in
the feature 27 fill (Ziesing, this volume) suggest
that it may also have received some primary
refuse, and Mrozowski's macrofossil data (this
volume) suggest that the hypothetical offending
gorwth may have been an elderberry bush
(Sambucus canadensis).
Feature 65
This clump of loam still incorporating a root
mass had been sunk into a disturbed area at
23N/8W in Operation B (Figure 12-2).
Someone either planted a greenhouse product
or transferred a potted plant outdoors. No
unique pollen types were noted in this sample
(Figure 12-13, bottom). Pollen concentrations
are relatively high, and there is no exact match
between the feature 65 loam counts and any
other spectrum. Frequencies of the individual
types present are, however, within the general
range for the rest of the site, and it is possible
that the loam acquired its pollen spectrum
locally. If so, the pollen concentrations, oak, pine
and elm counts suggest that it dates to the late
19th century and is roughly contemporaneous
with 21N/8W northwest profile sample 10.
Feature 61
This privy was located 5 m due east of the
south wall of the ell foundation in Operation B
(Figure 12-2). We have no construction data for
the structure. Documentary sources indicate
that it went out of service between 1887 and 1889,
but its artifact content suggest that it was not
filled until after 1910 (Bond 1989: 7). A 12-
sample profile was collected in 4-cm segments
from a possible wood plank vault floor at 56 cm
depth to the top of level 2. The upper few
centimeters, incorporating level 3, had been
removed in exposing the privy superstructure
foundation and could not be sampled. A
concentration of wood remains between samples
7 and 8 left a gap in the sequence, and the profile
segment incorporating samples 8 through 12 was
backed by planking structural remnants (Figure
12-14).
Four pollen zones are evident in the Feature
61 sequence (Figure 12-15). Samples 1 and 2 at
the bottom of the profile constitute the deepest.
Pollen concentrations and the "degraded oak"
counts of both samples are the largest in the
profile. The "too degraded to identify" category
and the spruce (Picia) oak, chestnut, grass, wild
oat-type (Avena-fatua-type), and wind-pollinated
Compositae counts are highest for the feature,
but only in one or the other of the samples. The
elm percentage of sample 1 is also relatively
large for the deeper fill, while the proportion of
arboreal pollen in sample 2 is notably depressed.
256 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
I I base of level 3
|12|
111
WOOD PLANK
BACKING BEHIND
PROFILE
PLANKING/WOOD FRAGMENTS
T7
LL_L
HONEYCOMBED /v»-, j
WOOD 6
4
3
2
|1
0 5 10
scale in centimeters
WOOD PLANKING
I I
I l
Figure 12-15. Palynologist's field sketch: fill stratigraphy and pollen column location,
north wall, Feature 61.
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 257
Only the pollen concentrations are conspicuous.
These essentially define the zone, and the
abrupt decline in pollen concentration in sample
3 suggests a change in the source of the matrix.
These samples immediately overlie what
appears to have been the plank floor of the vault.
There were no high or unusual economic pollen
counts of the sort noted in some 18th- and 19th-
century privies (Reinhard, Mrozowski, and
Orloski 1986; Kelso 1986a), and Reinhard (this
volume) found little evidence of the intestinal
parasites normally associated with fecal
deposits. Feature 61 was apparently emptied
before it was filled. Not all historical nightsoil
deposits have, however, proven palynologically
distinctive (Kelso n.d.), and the zone could still
incorporate a remnant of the occupation-period
vault contents. The relatively high phosphorus
content of the deeper privy samples (Fisher, this
volume) as well as the strawberry (Fragaria),
raspberry {Rubus), and blueberry (Vaccinium)
seeds (Morzowski, this volume) and the single
trichurid egg (Reinhard, this volume) recovered
from the deeper portion of level 2 in this privy
suggest that this may have been the case.
High pollen concentrations can reflect rapidly
buried surfaces in natural soil profiles
(Dimbleby 1985: 45). The zone 1 matrix may also
be a small amount of fill that was exposed to the
pollen rain, but protected from oxygen and fungi
for a period.
Pollen zone 2 in the Feature 61 profile
incorporates samples 3 through 6. It is
characterized by blocks of lower pollen
concentration, lower measures of pollen
corrosion, and by pine, spruce, hemlock, oak,
chestnut, birch, hazel, hickory, elm, grass,
European cereal, insect-pollinated Compositae,
and dock frequencies that are consistently
distinctive from preceding and subsequent
spectra. The zone 2 matrix was loose and loam-
like in appearance. It seemed too light in color
to be night-soil. No artifacts were noted in this
zone during sampling. The spectra are also
relatively uniform when compared to the fills of
feature 27 and the northeast profile feature of
21W/8N. The matrix may have been mixed
before deposition in the privy, suggesting that it
is an episodic fill originating off site.
Pollen zone 3 consists of a single sample (No.
7) sandwiched between a piece of honeycombed
wood, the top of zone 2, and a large piece of what
appears to be an architectural member at the
bottom of level 4 (Figure 12-15). The buckthorn,
elm, black locust-type, and mint family
frequencies imply some mixing across this
interface, but the oak, chestnut, hazel, grass, and
insect-pollinated Compositae, dock, "corroded
oak," and pollen concentration figures more
strongly suggest that the zone 3 spectrum is
different from those of both zone 2 and zone 4.
This may be a matter of relative exposure. Elm
counts expanded at the expense of oak during
the late 19th century in the 21W/8N northwest
profile. The counts of these two types in Feature
61, and perhaps the decline of grass, is
consistent with the documentary record (Bond
1989: 7) of privy discontinuance ca. 1887-1889.
Pollen concentrations are not high enough to
interpret this as a buried natural surface, but the
modest increase in pollen concentration and
improvement in pollen preservation in this zone
suggests a fill surface that accumulated some
new pollen through some exposure but was
protected from free oxygen and aerobic fungi. It
may be that the vault was filled to ca. level 7 at
that time and abandoned with its superstructure
intact.
Pollen zone 4 extends from sample 8 through
sample 12 at the top of the profile at the base of
the 20th-century level 3. The deteriorated
remnants of a plank wall were observed
immediately behind (north of) the profile
location. Oak, chestnut, birch (Betula), hazel
(Corylus), elm, buckthorn (Rhamnus), grass,
European cereal, goosefoot, insect-pollinated
Compositae, mint family (Labitae), and dock
frequencies all differ notably from those of
pollen zone 2. Either the flora in the backlot
changed markedly or the matrix originated at a
different location. The latter seems most likely,
and the contrast between the incorporated
pollen spectra and that of zone 2 seems
sufficiently comprehensive to identify this
profile segment as a separate episodic deposit.
Both pollen concentrations and quantities of
degraded pollen are larger at the top of the
profile, suggesting the "penetration of a fill"
record formation pattern described in the
introduction. The top of the remaining profile
may have been exposed and unprotected for an
interval between the post-1910 filling (Bond
1989: 7) and the post-1918 (see 21N/8W,
northwest profile) deposition of the now-missing
level 3 matrix. This would date dismantling of
the privy superstructure to the second decade of
the 20th century.
Summary and Conclusion
Pollen analysis of the James (Sirk) Street
boardinghouses backlots was undertaken to test
a hypothesis suggested by pollen data recovered
during the initial (John Street) Boott Mills
boardinghouse pollen investigation. This
hypothesis stated that a ragweed (wind-
258 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
pollinated Compositae) dominated flora in the
backlot gave way to grass during the main
portion of the boardinghouse occupation and
that the grass was itself replaced by ragweed in
the late 19th century as immigarants replaced
native millworkers and boardinghouse
maintenance slipped.
The technical objectives of the Boott Mills
boardinghouse backlot pollen study in testing
this hypothesis were: (1) To define the nature
and history of ground cover in the backlot; and
(2) to define the function and history of a
number of archeological features. Two lines of
evidence were employed: (1) pollen taxa
frequencies; and (2) pollen record formation
process data.
Among dense human populations in complex
societies, as in the planned 19th-century city of
Lowell, the vegetation is under cultural control.
The natural and native have been largely
eliminated, and man is the dominate factor in
the landscape. Vegetation is present where
people want it or where they do not care. The
former produces plantings and nature
reservations, the latter weeds. Both reflect
human selection with respect to the particular
soil in which the plants are rooted. Pollen taxa
frequencies record cultural dynamics because
they register the sensitive response of vegetation
to cultural activities in such settings. Pollen
record formation processes are essentially site
formation processes. There are two aspects of
these. One of these encompasses natural
processes such as post-deposition pollen
leaching and degradation. These are Schiffer's
(1988: 464) "N-Transforms." The second aspect
is the human distortion of normal pollen taxa
frequency patterns and of natural pollen
leaching and degradation patterns. These are
Schiffer's (1988: 464) "C-Transforms."
Palynological C-Transforms and N-
Transforms both are critical in the
interpretation of archeological features in the
boardinghouse backlot. Pollen percentages
were very irregular through the 21N/8W
northeast feature sequence, but pollen
concentrations and degradation measures
indicated three profile development episodes.
Natural leaching and degradation patterns
define the deepest zone in samples 1 through 3.
Small quantities of reed and sedge pollen
isolated among the confused spectra indicate
that this is the somewhat disturbed remnant of
the pre-boardinghouse period record. Abrupt
changes in pollen concentration and
preservation at samples 4 and 9 indicate two
subsequent episodic fills and suggest that each
of these may have remained exposed for a brief
period before being buried. Level 3 is missing at
this locus. The dismantling period window glass
layer directly overlay level 2, but no pollen
evidence of a former surface is evident at the top
of the profile. It is probable that the northeast
profile of 21N/8W was truncated when the
boardinghouse was torn down.
Four pollen zones are recorded among the
pollen concentration and preservation data of
the feature 61 privy. These appear to indicate
matrix blocks of different ages. High pollen
concentrations were found in samples 1 and 2
just above what appears to be the plank vault
floor. No distinctive counts of recognized
economic pollen types were noted, and the high
pollen concentrations may mean that the vault
stood open as a wind or sheetwash pollen trap
without accumulating much sediment for a
period. Four centimeters is a very thin layer. If
zone 1 reflects the normal vault contents, it is
only a remnant. Under any circumstance, the
vault appears to have been largely emptied
before abandonment. The second feature 61
pollen zone encompasses samples 2 through 6.
Its spectra were quite uniform, suggesting that it
may have been homogenized by repeated
handling before deposition. Zone 2 terminated
under a piece of rotten wood. Zone 3 lay
between the rotten wood and a number of
structural remnants thrown into the privy and
was distinguished by high elm and low oak
pollen counts. Its slightly higher pollen
concentrations and better pollen preservation
imply that it is really the top sample of zone 2
and that the privy was filled to this point and left
with its superstructure intact.
Zone 4 constitutes a separate fill, and its
artifact content suggests that it post-dates 1910.
Level 3 and probably some of level 2 was
removed before sampling, but the pollen
concentration and preservation measures of the
zone 4 remnant in zone 2 suggest that the top of
the deposit was exposed to the atmosphere. The
structural debris between samples 7 and 8 may
mark the dismantling of the privy
superstructure.
Arboreal pollen ratios of the loam and root
mat potted plant remnant buried in the top of
feature 65 were distinctive and suggests that the
soil originated off-site. Pollen concentration plus
elm, oak, and pine frequencies correlate best
with upper part of level 2 in the 21N/8W
northwest profile. If the spectrum is native to the
backlot, it dates ca. 1890.
High pollen concentrations and better
preservation at the bottom of feature 27 suggest
that this hole was filled quite rapidly. The pollen
taxa frequencies imply something more. Plants
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 259
that were prominent at the top of the natural
backlot sequence in the 21N8W northwest
profile are best represented at the bottom of
feature 27, and those whose counts are highest at
the bottom of that normal profile are most
important toward the top of the fill in this pit.
Such reversed stratigraphy indicates a void that
was filled by mining the backlot. The location of
the hole raises the possibility that a tree or vine
was damaging the foundation and had to be
removed.
Both pollen taxa frequencies and measures of
pollen record formation processes are important
in defining ground cover history. Pollen
concentration and preservation patterns assure
us that this is a normal profile development
sequence in levels 1 and 2, and, therefore, that
changes among the individual spectra probably
reflect variation in the local vegetation. Declines
in both pollen content and preservation reflect a
change in the function of the backlot during
deposition of level 3. Local weeds and boggy
ground plants were replaced in level 1 with
planted grass, which was probably Kirk Boott's
lawn. This in turn gave way to a utilitarian
boardinghouse backlot which was maintained in
a stable, if somewhat barren, condition until the
late 19th century. Elm and vine, possibly Boston
ivy, pollen frequencies suggest the planting of
ornamentals in the vicinity of the
boardinghouses, while chestnut, birch, and
hickory percentages indicate the maturation of a
shade tree flora in Lowell as a whole. Parallel
development of shrubby alley way and yard
border flora is reflected in the buckthorn counts.
In the late 19th century, letters of complaint
from the corporation agents to boardinghouse
keepers increased, suggesting a relaxation of
standards both in appearance and tenant
behavior on the part of the boardinghouse
occupants; quantities of trash, largely associated
with male immigrants in the workforce, were
being deposited in the previously well-kept
backlots (see Chapters 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10). During
the same interval the weed population, most
probably ragweed, increased moderately in the
backlot. This slippage in maintenance
standards may extend beyond the
boardinghouses to the Boott Mills complex as a
whole because shallow-water plants appear to
have taken root in the nearby Eastern Canal.
Depressed pollen concentrations and relatively
poor pollen preservation in the early 20th-
century level 3 deposits record a compacted plot
with a shallowly churned surface stripped even
of most weeds by the heavy traffic through the
backlot after the boardinghouses were
converted to storage facilities during the last
years of their existence.
The proprietors of the Boott Mills Corporation
were endowed with a strong sense of propriety.
They set strict standards of behavior for all of
their employees and appearance for all of their
property. Managers were constrained from
publicly engaging in politics, and laborers could
be discharged for loafing on street corners (Bell
1987a: 19; Bond 1989: 5). Considerable money for
loaming and of sodding front and side yards was
invested in the image of the Kirk Street Agents'
House, while the wrath of an ever-vigilant mill
management fell frequently on litter-bugs at the
boardinghouses (Robbins 1979: n.p.; Bond 1989: 5
and Chapter 3, this volume). In private these
criteria were not quite so equally applied.
The relatively uniform barrenness of the
boardinghouse backlot suggested by the pollen
spectra deposited prior to the last few years of
the 19th century supports the documentary and
archeological evidence that the Boott Mills
management's pragmatic, instrumental
approach to employee housing was in force for
the major portion of the boardinghouse
occupation period. The occupants of the
boardinghouses had little control over their own
immediate environment, and there was, until
quite late, little evidence for the expression of
individual impulses, even to be messy, until
things got a bit out of hand toward the end of the
occupation. The Boott Mills boardinghouse
backlots leave a very impersonal record.
In contrast, trash and organic garbage
accumulated in the agent's house backlot, while
the soil supported weed floras that varied
markedly through time, recording modifications
in soil stability and fertility as the nature of
human activities changed with the individual
whims of successive occupants. With a
landscaped faqade to present to the public, the
managers resident on Kirk Street were free to do
as they pleased behind their backlot fence. The
record they left in the flora is more difficult to
interpret, perhaps because it is so personal.
260 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
An Analysis of the Phytoliths from the Boott Mills Boardinghouse
Excavations
by William F. Fisher
Introduction
Opal phytolith analysis has been shown to be a
valuable tool in environmental reconstruction
and the interpretation of archeological sites.
Recent studies from historical sites, including
Fisher and Kelso (1987) and Piperno (1987, 1988),
illustrate the utility of this analysis and serve to
demonstrate new techniques for understanding
the processes of deposition. Phytolith analysis is
not a new technique, however, but because few
archeologists have recognized the value of
phytolith data, phytolith type collections are
rare, and techniques for applying phytolith
analysis to archeology are still being developed.
This study draws on the methods and techniques
used at the Kirk Street Agents' House (Fisher
1987b) while integrating new methods and
techniques suggested in the Kirk Street Agents'
House report (Fisher 1987b: 127).
Opal phytoliths are microscopic bodies that
vary in size from 1-1000 mi. Phytoliths are
formed in plants when hydrated silicon dioxide,
a common constituent of ground water,
precipitates out and is deposited along cell walls
and intercellular spaces, where it forms a hard,
durable opaline fossil cast (Rovner 1983: 226).
Opal phytoliths are composed of a non-
crystalline form of quartz, known as amorphous
opal A, which weathers like rock (Jones and
Segnit 1971: 58). Phytoliths are produced in most
plants over a variety of soil and drainage
conditions. Production of phytoliths is usually
heaviest in the epidermal tissue of the stems
and leaves, although they are also produced in
root, flower, and fruiting cells. Phytoliths make
their way into the soil when a plant or plant parts
die and decompose. Phytoliths have been
shown to be relatively stable components in soil,
susceptible to the same depositional and post-
depositional translocation processes as pollen
but resisting other processes such as percolation
(Rovner 1986: 23). Since phytoliths are released
into the soil as plants decay, rather than into the
air like pollen grains, a large part of the phytolith
record represents "in situ deposition" (Piperno
1988: 44). Phytolith movement is therefore
usually the result of mass movement of soil by
wind, water, or animals.
There are basically two methods used in
phytolith analysis; they are based on differential
production and individual morphology of
phytoliths. Jones and Beavers (1964: 711) noted
that grasses contributed more opal to the soil
than did trees. By extracting and weighing
phytoliths from weighed soil samples it is
possible to determine the percentage of
phytolith by weight in the soil. The difference in
gross production between grasses and trees can
then be used in determining whether a soil was
formed under grass or arboreal conditions. This
method has been shown to be of great utility in
the reconstruction of the vegetative histories of
forest and grassland areas (Witty and Knox
1964; Wilding and Drees 1968; Verma and Rust
1969; Miles and Singleton 1975; Fisher et al.
1987).
The use of this method on archeological
contexts must take into consideration aspects of
the depositional process relating to human
behavior that studies of natural contexts do not
need to consider. Because of the added aspect
of human behavior, differences in opal phytolith
content in archeological deposits may not be
related to vegetative patterns but rather to such
human activities as garbage disposal, latrine
deposits, mulching, fertilizing, land fill, land
reclamation, or charcoal manufacturing, to
name just a few. The number of variables that
affect phytolith concentration in archeological
contexts are so numerous as to render this
method nearly useless when applied as a single
component of a study. By comparing the data
gleaned from historical sources, stratigraphy,
associated artifacts, and, importantly, from soil,
pollen, and macrobotanical analysis, it is
possible to reconstruct more accurately the
vegetative histories and human activities that
are indicated by the concentration of phytoliths
in archeological deposits (Fisher and Kelso 1987:
43).
Since phytoliths are casts of plant cells, they
may be morphologically distinct at the family,
genus, or species level. By extracting phytoliths
from plant specimens taken from identified
herbarium collections, it is possible to develop a
collection of phytoliths, that, when compared by
morphological variation, establishes diagnostic
types identifying given plant families, genera, or
species. Twiss et al. (1969: 111) identified
morphological differences in the phytoliths of
three groups of grasses; Geis (1973: 115)
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 261
Table 12-2. Grass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce Festucoid (trapezoid) phytoliths.
Species
Bromus commulatus
Bromus mollis
Bromus lectorum
Bromus ciliatus
Festuca rubra
Festuca oclaflora
Poa compressa
Poa pratensis
Dactylis glomerata
Lolium perenne
Schizachne pupurascens
Distichlis spicata
Spartina pectinata
Sporobolus cryptandrus
Agropyron repens
Agropyron subsecundum
Agropyron trachycaulum
Elymus canadensis
Hordeum jubatum
Triticum aestivum
Avena saliva
Hierochloe odorata
Phalaris arundinacea
Agrostis scabra
Calamagrostis canadensis
Cinna latifolia
Phleum pratense
Phragmites communis
Egragrostis cilianensis
Egragrostis pectinaceae
Egragrostis spectabilis
Glyceria borealis
Danthonia spicata
Brachyelytrum erectum
Oryzopsis asperifolia
Aristida tuberculosa
F C Pa Fb
Description of Habitat
X
weed in waste /fields
X
weed in waste/ cultivated sioils
X
waste places/roadsides
X
moist woods/rocky slopes
X
meadows/bogs/marshes
X
open sterile ground
X
open ground /waste places
X
lawn grass/woods/meadows
X
field/meadow/waste areas
X
lawn/pasture/meadow/ waste
X
rocky woods
X
seashores
X
fresh water marshes
X
sandy open ground
X
meadow/pasture/waste areas
X
moist meadows/open fields
X
mountain meadows
X
prairies
X
meadows /open ground/ waste
X
cultivar/fields
X
cultivated
X
bogs/meadows/moist places
X
marshes/river banks
X
mountain meadows/fields
X
marshes/ wet places
X
moist woods
X
cultivar /fields/roadsides
X X
banks of lakes/ streams
X 3
(
cultivated ground/fields/waste
X J
(
fields/open ground /waste
X 3
(
sandy soil
X
X
wet places /shallow water
X
X X
dry sterile rocky soil
X
X
moist/rocky woods
X
X
wooded slopes/dry banks
X
X
open sandy woods
F - Festucoid; C - Chloridoid; Pa - Panicoid; Po - Polylobate and Cross-shaped
Sources: Brown 1986; Mulholland 1986; Hitchcock 1971.
Table 12-3. Crass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce Chloridoid (saddle) phytoliths.
Species F C
Phragmites communis
Egragrostis cilianensis
Egragrostis pectinaceae
Egragrostis spectabilis
Bouteloua gracilis
Bouteloua curtipendula
Cynodon dactylon
Leptochloa fascicularis
Pa
Po
Description of Habitat
X
X
banks of lakes/ streams
X
X
cultivated ground/fields/ waste
X
X
fields/open ground/waste
X
X
sandy soil
X
plains
X
plains/prairies/rocky hili
X
open grassland/ waste
X
brackish marshes
F - Festucoid; C - Chloridoid; Pa - Panicoid; Po - Polylobate and Cross-shaped
Sources: Brown 1986; Mulholland 1986; Hitchcock 1971.
262 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 12-4. Grass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce Panicoid (bilobate) phytoliths.
Species
Danthonia spicata
Glyceria borealis
Brachyelytrum erectum
Oryzopsis asperifolia
Aristida tuberculosa
Echinochloa crusgalli
Panicum virgatum
Setaria lutescens
Andropogon gerardi
Sorghastrum nutans
Sorghum halepense
Zea mays
Zizania aqualica
Panicum capillare
Digitaria sanguinalis
Tridens flavus
Pa
Po
Description of Habitat
X
X
dry sterile rocky soil
X
wet places/shallow water
X
moist/rocky woods
X
wooded slopes/dry banks
X
open sandy woods
X
X
cultivated fields/waste places
X
X
prairies /open ground/ woods
X
X
cultivated fields/waste places
X
X
prairies /open woods
X
X
prairies /open woods
X
X
open ground/fields
X
X
cultivar
X
marsh/stream banks
X
cultivated fields/waste places
X
fields/gardens/ waste places
X
old fields/open woods
F - Festucoid; C - Chloridoid; Pa - Panicoid; Po - Polylobate and Cross-shaped
Sources: Brown 1986; Mulholland 1986; Hitchcock 1971.
Table 12-5. Grass species occurring in Massachusetts that produce Polylobate and Cross-shaped phytoliths.
Species
Andropogon gerardi
Andropogon scoparius
Sorghastrum nutans
Sorghum halepense
Panicum virgatum
Cenchrus pauciflorus
Echinochloa crusgalli
Setaria lutescens
Danthonia spicata
Pa Po Description of Habitat
x x forage grass/dry soils
x x prairies /open woods
x x forage grass/dry soils
x x open ground/waste areas
x x open ground/open woods
x x weed in sandy fields
x x forage in field/ waste
x x cultivated soil /waste
x x dry sterile rocky soil
F - Festucoid; C - Chloridoid; Pa - Panicoid; Po - Polylobate and Cross-shaped
Sources: Brown 1986; Mulholland 1986; Hitchcock 1971.
separated 36 species of trees and shrubs at the
family and genus level; and Klein and Geis (1978:
148) described the differences in phytoliths from
15 taxa of the family Pinaceae.
Regional comparative collections are
necessary for identification of phytoliths from
archeological sites. Pearsall (1982: 868) and
Rovner (1983: 257) both suggest that the
development of comparative collections of opal
phytoliths is of primary concern as they are an
integral part of archeological phytolith analysis.
There are relatively few regional collections of
phytoliths, however; they include Starna and
Kane (1983), Piperno (1984, 1988), Brown (1986),
Mulholland (1986), and Fisher and Fisher (1988).
These collections add significantly to the
number of plants from which phytoliths can be
identified in soil deposits. The identification of
individual phytoliths to family, genus, or species
designation has been accomplished successfully
at archeological sites (Piperno 1984: 373; Fisher
and Kelso 1987: 41; Fisher and Fisher 1988: 5).
Phytoliths have also been used to describe
changing climate and vegetation (Fisher et al.
1987: 253; Fisher and Kelso 1987: 42; Lewis 1985:
45; 1987: 451).
Morphological differences in phytoliths found
in different grass species are an important
source of paleobotanical information, as pollen
grains from nearly all grass species are
indistinguishable from one another. While
Faegri and Iverson (1964) and Kelso and Schoss
(1983) identify some species of European
domesticates and corn pollen by size attributes,
native North American grasses tend to be
lumped into one large category (see Kelso and
Fisher, this volume). Grass phytoliths can be
separated into a number of different classes,
each containing a number of tribes and genera.
For this study grass phytoliths are classified into
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 263
four groups: the Festucoid, seen in Table 12-2;
the Chloridoid (Table 12-3); the Panicoid (Table
12-4); and the Polylobate (Table 12-5) (Twiss et
al. 1969: 111; Brown 1986: 80).
The use of opal phytolith analysis in
conjunction with pollen and macrobotanical
analysis has been suggested by Pearsall (1982:
862), who noted that "the technique [phytolith
analysis] is strongest when applied as one
component of a paleoethnobotanical study."
Rovner (1983: 258) concurs, suggesting that "the
most productive use of phytoliths should be in
conjunction with collateral paleobotanical
methods." Rovner (1983: 258) also notes that
using phytolith, pollen, and macrobotanical
studies in concert "allows phytolith data to be
matched against both microbotanical and
macrobotanical remains." The environmental
study of the Kirk Street Agents' House and Boott
Mills boardinghouse backlots were not originally
designed with comparative analysis of pollen,
phytoliths, and macrobotanical remains in mind.
The lessons learned from the Kirk Street Agents'
House environmental study (Fisher and Kelso
1987: 45), however, enabled us to formulate new
methods and techniques for the Boott Mills
boardinghouse backlot environmental study
that facilitated the use of the comparative data
generated by an integrated approach.
Methods
Samples for opal phytolith analysis were taken
from the contiguous pollen profiles used for the
pollen analysis. Fisher and Kelso (1987: 36)
recommend taking a phytolith sample from
each pollen sample to facilitate comparison of
the data. Table 12-6 indicates the pollen sample
number, the archeological level, and the
phytolith percentages from the northwest profile
of unit 21N/8W. Table 12-7 gives the same
information for the northeast profile of the same
unit. It should be noted that a number of
samples from level 1 in both profiles were
examined for phytoliths but appeared to have
none, or had too few to count. One problem with
the sample method used at the boardinghouse
backlot was the limited amount of soil for the
pollen and phytolith extractions. It was difficult
to reextract if there were problems with the
extraction method or a need for additional
slides. A new collection strategy for pollen,
phytolith, and soil samples is suggested (see
Fisher, this chapter, Part III) which should
alleviate this problem.
Table 12-6.
Phytoliths from 21N/8W NW profile.
Sample #
Pa
C
F Po T E
M
Total
PSIJ. 1
PS2, 1. 1
PS3, 1.1
PS4J. 1
PS5, 1. 2
PS6J. 2
6
14
no phytoliths
no phytoliths
no phytoliths
no phytoliths
no phytoliths
24 3 16 27
100
PS7, 1. 2
7
21
22 3 13 30
4
100
PS8J. 2
2
21
21 11 8 34
3
100
PS9, 1. 2
5
21
17 4 9 42
2
100
PS10, 1. 2
6
19
19 5 9 41
1
100
PS11J. 2
3
15
18 6 7 46
5
100
PS12, 1. 3
7
31
12 2 11 35
2
100
PS13, 1. 3
not extracted
Pa - Panicoid; C
- Chloridoid; F - Festucoid; Po -
Polylobate;
T - Trichome; E- Elongate; M
-Misc.
Table 12-7.
Phytoliths from 21N/8W NE profile.
Sample #
Pa
C
F Po T E
M
Total
PS1, 1. 1
PS2, 1. 1
PS3, 1.1
PS4J. 2
15
27
no phytoliths
no phytoliths
no phytoliths
7 2 9 39
1
100
PS5, 1. 2
8
28
9 2 4 47
2
100
PS6J. 2
9
33
10 4 8 36
100
PS7, 1. 2
7
23
12 6 13 33
100
PS8J. 2
8
39
13 4 11 25
100
PS9, 1. 2
16
31
9 2 6 36
100
PS10, 1. 2
11
24
12 1 13 39
100
PS11J. 2
10
20
12 4 14 27
13
100
PS12, 1. 3
10
31
6 3 11 30
2
100
Pa - Panicoid; C
- Chloridoid; F - Festucoid; Po -
Polylobate;
T - Trichome; E- Elongate; M
- Misc.
A weighed amount of soil between 2-5 grams
was analyzed for the percentage of opal
phytoliths by weight. The procedure for
extraction followed Mulholland (1983: 4), with
one exception: a solution of 30% hydrogen
peroxide was used to remove organic matter.
The final amounts of opal were inspected under
a compound microscope to assure uniform
purity and were then weighed to determine the
soil's phytolith content. The phytoliths from
each sample were mounted in cedar oil and
analyzed under a compound microscope using
phase contrast for morphological characteristics.
Identification of the phytoliths were made
following Twiss et al. (1969: 111), Geis (1973: 115),
Klein and Geis (1978: 148), Mulholland (1986: 51),
Brown (1984: 347), Piperno (1988a), and Fisher
and Fisher (1988: 11).
Fisher and Kelso (1987: 40) proposed a method
of determining phytolith degradation that would
provide data on site formation. This method
used phytoliths that were too corroded to
264 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
identify as evidence for degradation. This
technique was not ideal, as many phytoliths are
as yet unrecognized and could be included in
this sample. A refined method was proposed for
the boardinghouse backlot samples.
Identifiable phytoliths were examined for
evidence of corrosion and degradation, and the
percentage of corroded phytoliths in each
sample was then compared.
An important aspect of the boardinghouse
backlot study and of the phytolith analysis in
particular, was the use of the comparative
method. Fisher and Kelso (1987: 45) note that
the strength of the Kirk Street Agents' House
study was the ability to compare and integrate
data generated from the historical research,
artifact study, pollen analysis, macrobotanical
remains, and soil analysis. We have made every
effort to try and integrate more lines of data into
the boardinghouse backlot study in order to
build on this strength. An important addition to
the environmental study of the boardinghouse
backlot was to have come from the soil
chemistry analysis of the pollen/phytolith
profiles, but, as noted above, insufficient soil was
collected, hence no soil for chemical analysis
was "left over" from the contiguous profiles. Soil
chemistry analysis was therefore performed
chiefly on samples that were not directly
comparable to the contiguous profiles.
Results
The percentage of opal phytoliths by weight in
the samples is an important measure that can
yield significant information on the type of
ground cover, vegetal inclusions, and other
depositional processes. The boardinghouse
backlot samples were weighed on a defective
scale, however, resulting in an error that was not
discovered and corrected until after extraction.
This resulted in no reliable data on phytolith
percentages for the boardinghouse backlots.
The weights involved in phytolith percentages
from 2-5 g soil samples are so small that delicate
scales must be used, and they must be
recalibrated frequently by professionals. The
loss of data could have been overcome if larger
soil samples for pollen and phytolith extraction
had been taken, permitting reextraction.
Identification of individual phytoliths from the
Boott Mills boardinghouse backlot deposits
provided some very interesting data.
Identifications followed procedures used in the
Kirk Street Agents' House analysis, with a few
additions. New typologies, by Piperno (1988) and
Fisher and Fisher (1988) were incorporated, and
a new type of grass phytolith class not evidenced
or recognized in the Agents' House samples, the
polylobate, was found. Tables 12-6 and 12-7
provide phytolith percentages for each phytolith
sample.
As with the Kirk Street Agents' House analysis,
it was assumed that shifts in the frequency of
one of the four main grass phytolith classes are
not substantially altered by grasses that produce
multiple classes of phytoliths and instead
accurately represent changes in the
environment (Fisher and Kelso 1987: 41). Tables
12-2, 12-3, 12—4, and 12-5 illustrate four classes
of phytoliths produced by grasses and the
grasses that produce each type. Each class of
grass phytoliths has quite a number of genera,
many of differing ecological niches; the
Festucoid and Chloridoid classes, however, are
represented by grasses indicative of different
environmental conditions. Twiss et al. (1969: 110)
suggested that in the Midwest, the Festucoid
class represented the domestic grasses, while
the Chloridoid were representative of the "short
grass" prairie and the Panicoid, the "tall grass"
prairie.
These midwestern definitions are not
applicable to 19th-century Lowell,
Massachusetts. It was necessary to create a new
typology from the midwestern studies using the
grasses that also appears in Massachusetts.
Tables 12-2, 12-3, 12-4, and 12-5 show the
grasses found in Massachusetts that were
studied by Brown (1986) and Mulholland (1986).
This typology was suggested by Fisher and Kelso
(1987: 41) to indicate that the Festucoid class
grasses represent agriculturally important
genera, forage grasses, and lawn grasses; while
Chloridoid class grasses represent weed-type
grasses that colonize waste areas and open
ground. There are a number of environmental
conditions suggested by the presence of either
Festucoid or Chloridoid classes of grass
phytoliths. Using the comparative method, it is
possible to generate a more complete picture of
the environmental mosaic by integrating data
from the pollen and macrobotanical analysis
with the phytolith data.
The distribution of the grass phytolith classes
in the Kirk Street Agents' House deposits were
quite varied (Fisher and Kelso 1987: 42).
Phytoliths from the boardinghouse backlot
indicate more homogeneous deposits. Table 12-
6 shows the northwest profile of unit 21N/8W,
and it is interesting to note that PS6 in level 2 is
dominated by Festucoid-type phytoliths,
indicating either a kept yard or a pasture-type
environment. The next five samples all indicate
a balance between the Festucoid and Chloridoid
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 265
types. PS12 in level 3 then switches to Chloridoid
dominance indicative of a weedy situation.
It should be noted that the samples that
contain Festucoid and Chloridoid classes in
equal numbers (PS7 — PS11, NW profile) also
contain a number of unusual phytoliths grouped
in the miscellaneous category. PS7, PS8, PS10,
and PS11 all contain a phytolith similar to one
identified by Fisher and Fisher (1988: 15) from
Hilaria jamesii, a western fodder grass. PS7 and
PS8 contain a phytolith similar to one identified
by Piperno (1988: 244) from Protium panamense,
a Central American species. PS9 contains a
phytolith similar to Piperno's (1988: 233)
observation of Heliconia. the boardinghouse
backlot phytoliths that resemble phytoliths from
other type collections are not necessarily
indicative of the species. Since phytolith
typologies for the Northeast are incomplete, it is
quite possible that these unusual phytoliths are
produced by plants common or native to the
Northeast. The presence of these miscellaneous
phytoliths, and the presence of Festucoid and
Chloridoid class phytoliths in equal numbers
may indicate an unusual pattern of site
formation. Activities such as manuring,
mulching, or backyard trash disposal may
contribute to these patterns.
The phytoliths from the northeast profile of
unit 21N/8W show similar homogeneous strata.
The entire profile from PS4 through PS12,
however, is dominated by Chloridoid-type
phytoliths, which is indicative of a weedy
situation. PS11 and PS12 have large inclusions of
Curcurbita phytoliths; there are 13 in PS11 and 9
in PS12. This certainly seems to indicate that the
upper part of level 2 may have been used as a
discard area for food remains. The presence of
squash phytoliths in the NE profile and their
absence in the NW profile as well as the
presence of phytolith types similar to Western
U.S. grasses and Central American species in
the NW profile and their absence in the NW
profile point to a similar site formation process.
Since phytoliths are deposited "in situ", the
presence of such a vaired miscellaneous
assemblage indicates that the boardinghouse
backlots may have been used for episodic burial
or discard of garbage and refuse. The data are
also consistent witht the deposition of off-site fill
or the movement of soil for landscaping. Such
formation processes would cause quite a varied
background pattern in the phytolith record as
suggested in the backlot data. The NW profile
does not contain as high a percentage of
Chloridoid and Panicoid type grass phytoliths as
the NE profile. The unusually high percentages
of Panicoid-type grass phytoliths in the northeast
profile may be accounted for by the presence of
Chloridoid grasses that also produced Panicoid-
type phytoliths.
Corrosion data for the phytoliths of both the
NW and NE profiles are found in Table 12-8.
Both phytoliths and pollen grains are corroded
by a variety of agents. Fisher and Kelso (1987:
36) found that there is a correlation between
phytolith and pollen corrosion indices. A normal
pollen corrosion profile shows increased
corrosion as depth increases. The application of
an overburden, however, offers protection for
underlying strata and their pollen grains, thus
creating an inverted corrosion profile with more
corroded grains overlying protected, less
corroded grains. Such inverted corrosion
profiles are common in areas where fill or refuse
has been spread over a developing surface area.
Table 12-8. Percentage of corroded phytoliths from 21N/8W NW and NE profiles.
21N/8WNW Profile
Sample #
% Corroded
PS1
PS2
no sample
no sample
PS3
PS4
PS5
PS6
no sample
no sample
no sample
19.0
PS7
12.0
PS8
17.0
PS9
20.0
PS10
20.0
PS11
21.0
PS12
23.0
PS13
no sample
21N/8W NE Profile
% Corroded
no sample
no sample
no sample
34.0
43.0
34.0
31.0
35.0
31.0
20.0
27.0
26.0
266 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
The corrosion data for the backlot NW and
NE profiles are representative of an active fill
and disturbance sequence. The corroison
percentages for the two profiles are slightly
different. The NW profile shows a fairly even
level of corrosion throughout the entire profile.
There is a possible fill episode indicated in PS7-
8. The NE profile indicates a possible fill level at
PS4-5, with a developed living surface on PS5,
and another possible fill episode at PS10-11. It is
interesting to note that the NEA profile, which
was dominated by Chloridoid-type grass
phytoliths representative of weed grasses, has a
more varied corrosion profile consistent with a
disturbed site caused by alternating episodes of
filling and dumping.
Conclusion
Data recovered by the phytolith analysis of the
Boott Mills boardinghouse backlot has provided
insight into the botanical communities of the
backlot and its depositional processes. The two
profiles seem to differ in both the composition of
the botanical communities and their site
formation processes. The NW profile is
characterized by a Chloridoid/Festucoid mix of
grasses with a fairly consistent percentage of
corroded phytoliths. This combination would
seem to indicate a stable environment with
enduring site formation processes. The NE
profile is characterized by grasses producing the
Chloridoid-type phytoliths and a rather variable
percentage of corroded phytoliths. This
combination would seem to indicate a rapidly
changing soil surface caused by episodic fills
inducing a vegetative cover of disturbed site
plants such as the weed/waste area grasses that
produce Chloridoid-type phytoliths.
Phytoliths in the miscellaneous category,
however, such as squash and the two types that
resemble phytoliths from Central American
plants tend to support a similar interpretation
for both profiles. Because the inclusion of these
phytoliths indicates a pattern of refuse
deposition and/or fill episodes, and since
phytoliths represent "in situ" deposits, these two
seemingly different profiles may be the product
of large-scale fill episodes with great variation
within the fill matrix. The apparent differences
in vegetation and corrosion may by caused by
shovel loads from opposite ends of a large fill
load or a number of small fill episodes covering
a large area.
Because of the nature of the phytolith data, it
is necessary to compare these results closely
with the data gleaned from the pollen, historical,
and archeological record. While the phytolith
data may not fully explain either the vegetative
or depositional records of the backlot, the data
are valuable in supporting and substantiating
evidence unearthed by other paleobotanical,
archeological, and historical methods.
An Analysis of Soils from the Boott Mills Boardinghouse Backlots
by William F. Fisher
Introduction
Soil analysis is an important component of an
archeological investigation. Archeologists have
shown increasing interest in the development of
soil analysis and a growing understanding of its
utility in archeological investigations (Cornwall
1958; Cook and Heizer 1965; Butzer 1971, 1982;
Limbrey 1975; Shackley 1975; Hassan 1978; Stein
1985). Archeologists are particularly interested
in soils because "it is from the soil that people
derive their nourishment and it is in, under, and
on it that their remains are found" (Limbrey
1975: ii). Limbrey (1975: 233) also notes that
"intrinsic information is held in the materials of
the soil itself, and in its distribution in the
landscape," for soil is not just a repository for
artifacts, but rather a fabric woven of cultural
artifacts, floral and faunal remains, and organic
and inorganic matter.
Soil analysis is a broad description of a
number of different techniques and processes of
soil classification, chemical and physical
analysis, and interpretation. Soils are generally
classified using a guide to soil taxonomy such as
those produced by Soil Survey Staff (1975) or by
Buol, Hole, and McCracken (1973). These are
systems for classifying naturally occurring soils
and soil systems. Archeological soils are usually
heavily modified by man; as Singer and Munns
(1987: 3) succinctly note, "people have a
profound influence on soils." These human-
altered soils, however, are not well addressed in
soil taxonomy classifications.
Chemical and physical properties of soils are
important aspects of soil analysis. Singer and
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 267
Munns (1987: 1) suggest that soils are "dynamic
ecological systems and to properly understand a
system it is necessary to first understand the
components." Soil scientists Jackson (1958),
Black (1965), Greenland and Hayes (1981), and
Page (1982) have developed quite an array of
physical and chemical analyses used in a
number of different fields. Some scholars (e.g.,
Cornwall 1958; Shackley 1975; Limbrey 1975), for
example, have noted important physical and
chemical analyses that yield significant data
about human occupation and the effect of
human activity on soil properties. Soil science
and archeology are not stagnant fields, and new
techniques and analyses are continually added
to standard practice in order to obtain the most
from the available data.
The purpose of the soil analysis performed for
the Lowell Kirk Street Agents' House
(Mrozowski 1987b: 116) was to provide
information on rapid depositional episodes,
depositional processes, and stratigraphic
interpretation of these deposits. The Boott Mills
boardinghouse soil analysis initially was
designed with similar goals. Other analyses were
planned after soil sampling was completed;
these, it was hoped, would provide additional
information about human activities, particularly
waste disposal, as well as data complementary to
the pollen and phytolith data. A further goal of
the Boott Mills boardinghouse soil analysis was
to facilitate comparison of soil, pollen, phytolith,
and macrobotanical data.
Methods
The sampling strategy at the Boott Mills
boardinghouse excavations was similar to the
strategy used in the Kirk Street Agents' House
excavations (Mrozowski 1987b: 116). Sampling
was limited to the collection of soil samples from
each stratigraphic layer in each of the two
operations and the collection of soil samples
from selected features (i.e., from those that
contained soil — features such as brick and stone
foundation segments, for instance, did not). The
bulk soil samples were taken for macrobotanical
analysis, and only after the fact were the samples
subdivided for soils analysis. A total of 19 soil
samples were processed and analyzed by the
Soil and Plant Testing Laboratory of the
University of Massachusetts, Waltham,
Massachusetts. The soils were analyzed for
available nutrient levels of phosphorus (P),
potassium (K), calcium (Ca), magnesium (Mg),
ammonium (NH4), and nitrate (N03), as well as
pH, aluminum (Al), lead (Pb), arsenic (As), and
cadmium (Cd) levels. Also analyzed were the
micronutrient levels of boron (B), molybdenum
(Mo), zinc (Zn), copper (Cu), iron (Fe), and
manganese (Mn). Total phosphate was
estimated using the procedure outlined by
Shackley (1975: 68) and Cornwall (1958: 175). The
results are presented in Appendix D. Additional
tests had been planned for estimating total
organic matter and total silica of the pollen and
phytolith soil samples (collected separately from
selected locations in the backlots by Kelso), but
insufficient soil remained after the pollen and
phytolith extraction had been completed.
Two critical errors in the sampling procedures
limited both the utility of the samples and the
sample quality. In our analysis of the Kirk Street
Agents' House soils we discovered that for good
comparative data we needed matching pollen
and phytolith profiles as well as soil and
macrobotanical samples taken in conjunction
with the pollen and phytolith samples (Fisher
and Kelso 1987). Sadly, we realized the need for
a change in sampling strategy after the samples
from the Boott boardinghouse backlots had
been taken and the excavation closed. We now
know that it is very important to have
comparative soil samples from the pollen and
phytolith profile, not just isolated soil samples
from stratigraphic layers and selected features.
That is, all our sampling should have been done
in continuous columns as was done for the
pollen and phytolith samples so that all samples
are directly comparable.
Relationships between plant communities and
soil conditions are an important facet of modern
botany and involve an understanding of both
plants and soil (Pritchett and Fisher 1987: 35).
The reconstruction of historical plant
communities and soil conditions is only possible
with comparative pollen, phytolith,
macrobotanical, and soil analysis. In addition,
many soil conditions (e.g., pH and organic
content) affect pollen, macrobotanical, and
phytolith preservation and degradation and
therefore the cultural interpretation of these
analyses. It is also possible that once
comparative sampling is instituted, many new
relationships may be discovered among the
various elements of the soil mosaic.
Pollen sampling as done by Kelso (this
volume) consists of a contiguous column of
samples taken every 2 cm. this sample is large
enough for phytolith analysis to be performed on
the same samples. We have discovered,
however, that while one of two pollen cores or
profiles per site can provide sufficient data for
the palynologist, phytoliths, because they are
decay-in-place residue, are better analyzed with
268 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
a contiguous profile from each excavation unit.
We also have discovered that soil analysis of the
pollen and phytolith profiles will enhance our
data and provide additional comparative data.
In order to accommodate these newly-
recognized needs, we are recommending a new
sampling strategy for environmental analysis.
We suggest saving a 20 cm x 20 cm baulk in
the corner of each l-m^ unit under
investigation. Removing the baulk in 2-cm
levels will yield a volume of 800 ml for each
sample, which should be sufficient for pollen,
phytolith, and soil analysis. Removing 20% of
each unit for environmental analysis may sound
rather extreme at first; the evidence provided by
the pollen, phytolith, and soil analysis should be
equated with the evidence provided by metal,
glass, or ceramic analysis. Artifacts found in the
column sample may be recovered at no risk to
the environmental analyses. It should be noted
that the environmental data can usually provide
details on micro-changes within excavated
stratigraphic layers through use of the finer
sampling interval.
An error in recovering and storing the soil
samples was discovered after analysis of soils
from boardinghouse backlots was complete. Soil
samples were taken in the field and placed in
air-tight plastic bags. Samples remained in
these bags for many months before analysis.
This error came about because soils analysis was
a late-comer to the boardinghouse research; in
the case of the Kirk Street Agents' House,
advance planning permitted soil samples to be
air-dried after recovery, per instructions from
the soils laboratory. Cornwall (1958: 117) warns
that "close sealing [of soil samples] should be
avoided, especially of moist material . . .
polythenne bags are ideal once the sample has
been dried." He further notes that "unless the
samples can be dealt with immediately,
moisture will encourage the growth of algae or
moulds" (Cornwall 1958: 117). The growth of
algae and molds indicates continued biological
action in the sample that alters the levels of
organic nutrients. Since each sample is isolated
within its own micro-environment and contains
an unknown amount o( moisture, the biological
reactions occur differentially, sample by sample,
so that quantitative results are skewed and
qualitative comparisons can be meaningless.
Simply drying the soil samples in a low-
temperature oven and then resealing them
would have prevented the loss of valuable soil
data.
We know now that this type of error could
have been avoided if we had included a
professional soil scientist or archeological soil
expert on our project team, but this was one of
the few cases in which we sent samples out to
persons otherwise wholly uninvolved with the
project. This is not to say that the Soil and Plant
Testing Laboratory was at fault — quite the
contrary. They were in fact very helpful in
isolating our possible errors and in the
interpretation of results; the critical error was in
not having a soil scientist create and perform the
sampling strategy. Unfortunately, like many
other archeologists, we naively assumed we
could stockpile soil samples safely in plastic
bags indefinitely. Historical archeologists have
little or no training in soil science, so those who
determine and perform soil sampling strategies
are destined to make mistakes that a trained
pedologist would avoid. As Griffith and Mark
(1979: 118) note, common errors by archeologists
include rediscovering basic soil principles rather
than forming theories, misapplying soil
techniques, and misusing, misinforming, and
misinterpreting outside consultants. We hope
that future excavations make use of the lessons
we learned at Lowell: soil experts should be
called in during the early stages of a project and
soil sampling should be performed in
conjunction with pollen, phytolith, and
macrobotanical sampling so that the analyses
can complement and supplement one another.
Further, the analyses must be done promptly
after sample recovery if the samples cannot be
prepared for long-term storage.
Results
Because of the sampling problems discussed
above, interpretations of data from the soil
analysis are more abbreviated than anticipated.
Intriguing results were nevertheless evident.
Levels of lead (Pb), iron (Fe), copper (Cu),
arsenic (As), and cadmium (Cd) are reported in
parts per million (ppm) and appear in Tables 12-
9 through 12-12, grouped by provenance and
feature type. Total phosphorus content is
included in the same tables but appears in
qualitative form.
Lead levels were very high in the
boardinghouse backlot soils. Lead is toxic to
humans; levels above 300 ppm total lead may be
harmful to children. The Suffolk County,
Massachusetts, Cooperative Extension Service
considers lead levels between 10-30 ppm to be
natural background levels. They warn that lead
levels in soil and dust that exceed 500-1,000 ppm
appear to increase children's blood lead above
background levels. Levels of lead from homes of
lead-poisoned children in Boston average 1,800
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 269
ppm and range from 200—4,500 ppm. Lead may
work its way into the soil as lead paint and lead
pipes decay, from nearby roads (car exhaust),
and from residue of chemicals used in spraying
orchards. Lead levels were low at the
boardinghouses in fill and yard deposits (Table
12-9), extraordinarily high in drainage features,
especially Features 36 and 37 A (Table 12-10), low
in possible planting holes (except Feature 27,
which was very high; see Table 12-11), and high
in some levels of the privies (Table 12-12). Nine
out of 19 samples from the boardinghouse
backlots had lead levels of over 300 ppm, six of
which were over 900 ppm. In comparison, in the
Agents' House samples, three of 17 samples had
lead levels about 300 ppm, the highest being 431
ppm. This may result from a bias in the samples,
as no privies or drainage features were found at
the Agents' House.
Table 12-9.
and B and the
Stratigraphic levels from
i ppm of selected elements.
Opera
tions A
Context
Operation A
4N/6W2
2N/8W3
Pb* Fe
20 266
20 344
Cu
0.5
0.7
As
0.0
0.0
Cd
0.0
0.0
Total P+
Low
Med
Operation B
25N/2W1
23N/8W2
46 239
74 10
1.4
1.3
0.0
0.0
0.0
0.1
Low
Med
"Lead is given in estimated total ppm.
"'Total phosphorus is given in relative measure.
Table 12-10. Drainage features and the ppm of selected
elements.
Context
Pb*
Fe
Cu
As
Cd
Total P*
Feature 36
1513
11.4
6.2
0.0
0.1
Low
Feature 37A
1328
68.0
6.6
0.0
0.2
Low
Feature 44
Level B
507
20.5
3.6
0.0
0.0
Low
Level C
584
34.9
5.8
0.0
0.0
Low
Base
614
7.6
1.2
0.0
0.0
Low
"Lead is given in estimated total ppm.
"■Total phosphorus is given in relative measure.
We feel safe in eliminating car exhaust as a
major contributor to the boardinghouse backlot
lead contamination. While the site has
operated for many years as a parking lot, thus
possibly exposing it to high levels of exhaust, the
blacktop seems to have shielded the site. If car
exhaust were a major factor, the upper fill and
yard deposits would show higher lead
concentrations; there would not be differential
accumulation in certain features. The
concentration of lead in drainage features
indicates that lead pipes and lead paint may be
the most likely sources of the lead
contamination in the boardinghouse backlots.
Table 12-11. Possible
planting holes and the ppm of
selected elements
Context
Pb*
Fe Cu As
Cd '
Total Pi-
Feature 27
938
141 10.1 0.0
0.0
Low
Feature 65
Level A
246
193 0.4 0.0
0.0
Low
Level B
20
347 0.7 0.0
0.0
Med
Level C
20
277 0.6 0.0
0.0
Med
Level D
20
224 0.8 0.0
0.0
Med
*Lead is given in
estimated total ppm.
"*Total phosphorus is given in relative measure.
Table 12-12. Privies and the ppm of selected elements.
Context
Pb*
Fe Cu As
Cd
Total P+
Feature 45
Chmbrpot
1650
44.5 7.6 0.0
0.4
Low
Level B
955
35.5 3.9 0.0
0.0
Low
Level C
272
5.5 0.7 0.0
0.0
High
Feature 61
Level 2
1358
4.2 10.1 0.3
0.3
High
Bottom
46
372.0 3.1 0.0
0.0
High
'Lead is given in
estimated total ppm.
"^Total phosphorus is given in relative measure.
The relationship between iron and lead is very
interesting. In possible planting holes, fill, and
yard deposits, where lead was low, iron was
highest (Tables 12-9, 12-11). Where lead was
high — in privies and drainage features — iron
was lowest (Tables 12-10, 12-12). It is unclear
why this relationship should exist, but it should
be noted for further research. Iron has little
effect on human health, although iron deficiency
in plants causes reduced growth. Iron is a
naturally occurring mineral, and its presence in
higher quantities in certain contexts may
indicate relatively undisturbed or sterile soils.
Concentrations of copper in the backlot soils
mirror lead levels; this suggests that they share
the same source. It is impossible, however, to
tell if the source was lead paint as opposed to
lead pipes, as copper is a common component of
each. Arsenic is a toxin to both plants and
humans; it is included with cadmium, copper,
270 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
lead, and zinc as toxic pollutants subject to
regulation under the Clean Water Act. Lindsay
(1979: 273) notes that the National Academy of
Sciences and the National Academy of
Engineering consider levels of arsenic greater
than 10 ppm to be toxic to plants. Arsenic is
present in only a few samples, including one
privy deposit (see Table 12-12). Arsenic is a
normal component of soils at a very low
background level; the levels found in the
boardinghouse backlots are within this range.
Cadmium is rare in soils; most (ca. 90%) have
less than 0.2 ppm. High levels of cadmium are
noted in two privy samples, one of which also
showed arsenic. The cadmium levels found in
the boardinghouse backlot soils, however, are
also within normal background ranges.
Total phosphorus reported includes both the
organic phosphorus and the inorganic
phosphates present in archeological deposits.
The redistribution of phosphate in archeological
contexts is brought about by movements of
animals or their refuse, concentration of human
rubbish and excreta, and the burial of corpses
(Limbrey 1975: 72). Griffith and Mark (1979: 119)
note that while many researchers have shown
that phosphorus levels are increased by human
activities, few have applied this technique as a
tool for understanding either human activities or
site development. There are many patterns
indicated in the total phosphorus content of the
boardinghouse soils. Phosphorus is higher in
lower levels in the yard and fill deposits (cf . Table
12-9). This may indicate that the lower levels
were living surfaces that saw the inclusion of
animal waste or human rubbish, while the upper
levels may represent more sterile overburden or
fill added during the destruction and reshaping
of the boardinghouse backlot. Phosphorus
levels are uniformly low in the drainage features
(Table 12-10) and mixed in possible planting
holes (Table 12-11). The phosphorus is highest
in the lowest levels of the privies, indicating the
possibility of intact latrine deposits in both
Features 45 and 61 . It is interesting to note the
low phosphorus counts at the level the
chamberpot was found and in the soil from the
chamberpot. This indicates that the
chamberpot was most probably part of a fill
episode rather than deposited when the privy
was in use as a latrine.
Conclusions
The results of the soils analysis of the Boott
Mills boardinghouse backlots provided
significant data on features, especially the
privies, as well as information on site deposition
and development. The high lead levels in
boardinghouse backlots soils are relevant to
health issues concerning the boarders and their
children. Given the high number of children's
toys, such as marbles, etc., found in the backlot,
it is probable that children played in them,
thereby dramatically increasing their intake of
lead. The significant differences in lead content
between the boardinghouse backlot and the
agent's house indicates a difference in building
materials and upkeep that reflects social
conditions of the time, the presence of high
phosphate levels in the lowest levels of the
privies indicates some deposits escaped
mandated cleaning and removal.
Important lessons learned, or relearned, by
the soil analysis, include the need for a soil
scientist or pedologist to be included from the
earliest planning stages of a project to conduct
sampling, analysis, and interpretation, and the
importance of soil analysis in the overall
environmental analysis of the site. A new
sampling method is proposed that would
facilitate the comparison of soil, pollen,
phytolith, and macrobotanical data. This
sampling strategy is important because it allows
for development of new relationships and a
greater understanding of the variables that
comprise the soil mosaic.
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 271
Parasitological Analyses of Latrine Soils from the Boott Mills
Boardinghouse Site, Lowell, Massachusetts
by Karl J. Reinhard
Introduction
Biological analysis of latrine soils is becoming
a common aspect of archeological research (e.g.,
Mrozowski 1983, 1984). The last few years have
seen the innovation of techniques and advances
in interpretation with respect to parasitological
analysis of latrines (Jones 1985; Herrmann 1986,
1987; Reinhard, Mrozowski, and Orloski 1986;
Reinhard et al. 1988). Of specific application to
archeological remains, Jones 1985 used trichurid
(whipworm) egg counts as a means of
differentiating soils derived from fecal deposits
from those derived from trash mounds
contaminated with feces.
Soil samples from the Boott Mills
boardinghouse site were submitted for
parasitological analysis. The goals of this
analysis were the determination of the nature of
the deposits (either fecal, fecal/trash, or trash)
and the identification of parasite species, if
possible. Determination of the nature of the
deposit is based on the criteria established by
Jones (1985).
Materials and Methods
Five samples were submitted for analysis.
Four came from possible latrine deposits (nos.
53, 57, 69, and 70). The fifth was recovered from
the inside of a chamber pot (Feature 45).
The soil samples were processed through
several parasitological techniques following
Reinhard et al. 1988. Extensive pretesting was
designed to evaluate which technique was most
effective for parasitological analysis. As a
preliminary test, samples were floated for 5
minutes in sodium chloride. The samples were
first screened through a 200-mi mesh screen. In
this case a portion of each sample was placed in
a 2-dram shell vial, and the flotation medium of
sodium chloride (specific gravity 1.2) was added.
A microscope cover glass was placed on top of
the vial in contact with the top of the flotation
medium and left for 5 minutes. Then the
microscope slide was examined for the presence
of parasite eggs.
A second test was done using a zinc chloride
flotation medium (specific gravity 1.9). In this
test, a screened sample of soil was put in a 50-ml
centrifuge tube and centrifuged for 30 min at
1900 rpm in a standard clinical centrifuge. After
this process, the supernatant was poured off, and
microscopic debris was concentrated from the
solution and examined.
As a final test, 50 ml of screened soil were
placed in a 70% solution of hydrofluoric acid for
24 hours. The resulting sediments were then
concentrated by centrifugation. The sediments
were floated in a zinc bromide flotation medium
(specific gravity 1.9). The supernatant
containing floating microscopic debris was
removed and concentrated by centrifugation.
Then the debris was washed in water and
dehydrated through an alcohol series. The
resulting microscopic residue was subsampled
for microscopic examination.
A second stage of the analysis was designed
for quantification. Thirty milliliters of soil were
taken from each sample, and a Lycopodium
spore tablet containing approximately 11,200
spores was added. By comparing the number of
recovered parasite eggs w'th the known number
of spores, the number of parasite eggs per gram
of soil can be determined. These subsamples
were then weighed, screened, and treated with
hydrochloric acid to break up carbonates. After
several water washes to remove residual
hydrochloric acid, the samples were placed in
70% hydrofluoric acid for 24 hours to dissolve
silicates. After this time, the samples were
concentrated by centrifugation and then floated
in zinc bromide as noted above.
A second process was attempted. In this case,
soil samples were measured out and rehydrated
in trisodium phosphate. They were then
sedimented by gravity in acetic formalin alcohol.
The upper layers of sediment were examined for
parasite remains. Thus, the quantification
techniques included examination both of floated
and sedimented debris as suggested by several
authors (see Reinhard et al. 1988 for a review of
processing procedures).
To further explore the origin of the soils,
sample 70 was processed palynologically, and a
200-grain pollen count was made. The other
samples were scanned to subjectively evaluate
their similarity in pollen spectra to sample 70.
Results
No technique resulted in the recovery of
parasite eggs except that involving both
hydrofluoric acid treatment and zinc bromide
272 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
flotation. This resulted in the recovery of four
parasite eggs.
One, recovered from sample 70, is a trichurid
egg measuring 24 x 50 mi. This places it in the
size range of Trichuris trichiura (the human-
specific whipworm) or Trichuris suis (the swine-
specific whipworm). Repeated examination of
the soil sample did not reveal any more eggs.
The ratio of spores to eggs in this sample was
50:1, which indicates a presence of 5 eggs per
gram of soil.
Three eggs were recovered from sample 53.
The Lycopodium spore-to-egg ratio was 88:3,
which indicates a presence of 15 eggs per gram
of soil. One egg is an oxyurid egg measuring 71 x
43 mi. The size range and morphology the the
eggs are consistent with that of Oxyuris equi, the
pinworm of the horse. The other two eggs are
consistent morphologically with the genus
Capillaria. They measure 28 x 55 mi and 18 x 35
mi, which suggests that two species are
represented by the eggs. Capillaria has many
species in mammals and birds, and it is
impossible to identify species on the basis of
eggs. The small size of one of the eggs is
indicative of an avian or rodent origin. Neither
egg resembles the two capillarid species
sometimes found in humans, C. hepatica and C.
philippinensis. Since horses are not parasitized
by a capillarid species, the eggs in sample 53 are
derived from at least two, and possibly three,
animals. As noted above the oxyurid eggs
implies an equine origin.
The other samples contained no eggs at all.
In the process of extracting parasite eggs, no
seeds were observed. Seeds are usually very
common in latrine deposits. The microscopic
preparation of all soils show that the majority of
organics present in the soil are charcoal
fragments.
were not from a latrine deposit. This is
supported negatively by the sparsity of seeds in
the soil samples and positively by the presence
of abundant charcoal. The charcoal is more
commonly associated with trash deposits or
hearth sweepings.
A large amount of pollen is present in sample
70. The vast majority of the pollen recovered is
wind pollinated. Of the types recovered, only
Trifolium-type, Malvaceae, High-Spine
Asteracaea, and Fabaceae are insect pollinated.
This accounts for only 5% of the recovered
pollen, an insect pollinated percentage that is
normal for natural pollen rain. Unidentifiable
and unknown grains make up 10% of the
spectrum. The remaining 85% of the pollen
spectrum is of wind-pollinated types. This
indicates that the deposits are not derived from
a fecal origin.
An interesting aspect of this sample is the
large amount of arboreal pollen. Pollen from
trees makes up 41.5% of the total pollen
spectrum. This indicates the presence of
forested areas in the vicinity of the site. With
regard to the non-arboreal pollen, those types
indicative of ground disturbances (e.g., Cheno
Am and Artemisia) are rare. This suggests a
stable environment in the area of the site.
Subjectively, the pollen spectra of the other
samples appear similar to those of sample 70,
with the exception of sample 53. Sample 53
appears to have a greater representation of non-
arboreal taxa. None, however, appear to have a
high percentage of insect-pollinated taxa or
economic taxa indicative of fecal deposits. It
must be emphasized, however, that this is a
subjective estimate and that a full pollen count
may reveal differences that are not obvious to
superficial examination (see Kelso and Fisher,
this chapter, Part I).
Discussion
Jones (1985) determined that egg counts
exceeding 20,000 eggs per gram of soil lepg] may
be considered fecal in origin. Those containing
2000-19,999 are probably fecal. Egg counts of
500-1,999 are probably rrom mixed fecal/trash
deposits. Egg counts of between 200 and 500 are
probably not indicative of latrine deposits, but
rather "part of the urban background fauna"
(Jones 1985: 112-113). Egg counts less that 200
epg are not significant.
If Jones' study of British soils can be applied to
the Lowell site, then one concludes from the
study that the soil samples submitted for study
Conclusion
The soil samples do not contain significant
numbers of parasite eggs, as would be expected
in fecal soils. Applying Jones' criteria for the
identification of soils of fecal origin, one
concludes that the boardinghouse site soils are
not from fecal deposits. The pollen evidence
supports this conclusion in the low amount of
insect-pollinated and economic taxa. These
findings, plus the presence of large amounts of
charcoal, suggest that that the Lowell Boott Mills
boardinghouse site soils are from non-fecal trash
deposits.
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 273
Macrofossil Analysis
Introduction
by Stephen A.
Although previous analysis of plant
macrofossils from the Boott Mills
boardinghouses and the Kirk Street Agents'
House emphasized changing plant communities
and the overall evolution of the urban
landscape, little emphasis was placed on the
examination of foodways. The former were
stressed because the evidence spoke most
directly to those issues, with only limited
information pertaining to the study of foodways
being garnered from either site. The reverse is
true of the results drawn from the most recent
analysis of samples collected from the rear yards
of Boott boardinghouse units 45 and 48.
Although the macrofossil sample is small, in part
because of poor preservation, it contains
evidence relating to foodways, boardinghouse
yard plant communities, and the activities of
non-human members of the urban biotic
community, rodents in particular. Another
characteristic of the results from the
boardinghouse yards that differs from those
obtained for the Agents' House site relates to
their context. Unlike the Agents' House, where
all samples were collected from stratigraphic
levels, the majority of the seeds recovered from
the boardinghouse yards are from discrete
features such as privies, planting holes, and pits
associated with architectural remains. The
association of specific botanical remains with
specific features in some instances has merited,
in some instances, conjecture concerning
possible systemic association. Although
speculations of this kind are offered cautiously,
until the relationship between living plant
communities and their death assemblages is
better understood, they can not be discounted.
Results
The results of the botanical analysis from units
45 and 48 will be discussed separately. More
samples were processed from number 48
because a greater number of samples were
collected from this backlot. This imbalance is
offset to a degree by the results of earlier work
conducted in the yard of unit number 45
(Mrozowski 1987c). A total of 24 samples were
processed at the University of Massachusetts at
Boston. A froth flotation machine was used in
Mrozowski
the processing. All samples were 500 ml. in
volume; 50 poppy seeds were added to each
sample in order to have some gauge of recovery
rate. In this instance recovery rate was
comparable to that calculated for samples from
the Kirk Street Agents' House, between 20-70%.
In a number of cases the seeds appear to be
modern. Only samples from sealed features
appear to be associated with the boardinghouse
occupation.
In addition to the botanical remains recovered
through floatation several specimans were
collected during excavation. In every instance
the specimens were either large fruit pits or nut
fragments. Some of these are certainly modern
and therefore will not be discussed. There were,
however, a small number which were recovered
from sealed contexts and appear to date to the
latter stages of the boardinghouse occupation.
Only the occupation related specimens appear
in Table 12-13.
Operation A: Unit #48
Of the 24 soil samples processed from the
yards of the boardinghouses, 18 were collected
from Operation A. Macrofossils were discovered
in only 6 of these samples — in soils from features
25, 27, 33, 40, and 49. No botanical remains were
recovered from feature 45 (the boardinghouse
privy) during floatation although some were
found during excavation. Botanical remains
were recovered during excavation in Features 24,
37, 43 and 44.
Feature 24
This small pit in the rear of the boardinghouse
backlot may have been a post hole. The only
botanical remains recovered from this unit were
collected during excavation. The lone specimen
was a peach pit. It was among several that were
recovered from the yard of the boardinghouse.
Feature 25
This feature consisted of fill in a portion of the
cellar of the boardinghouse itself. Samples
collected from this feature contained remains of
274 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Table 12-13. Boott Mills Boardinghouse plant
macrofossil analysis results.
Sample #
NF
32
24
21
NF
40
NF
NF
NF
56
NF
70
NF
NF
Provenience
Feat. 24
Feat. 25
Feat. 25
Feat. 27
Feat. 37/
Level B
Feat. 40
Feat. 43
Feat. 44/
Level B
Feat. 45
Level B
Feat. 49
Feat. 61/
Level 1
Level 2
21N/8W
Level 2
23N/2W
Level 1
Mullag
Chenopodium album
Polygonaceae
Rubus
Vitis labrusca
Vitis sps.
Gramineae
Rumex acetosella
Leguminoseae
Vaccinium sps.
Fragaria virginiana
Sambucus canadensis
Capsicum
Solanum
Prunus
Prunus persica
Juglans nigra
Fam. /Gen. Species
Prunus persica
Nut fragments*'
Vitis labrusca
Sambucus canadensis
Chenopodium album
Rubus sps.
Prunus persica
Vitis sps.
Polygonaceae sps.
Capsicum / Solanum
Rubus sps.
Rumex acetosella
Fruit pit frags.
(Prunus sp.?)
Nut frags.*
Nut frags.*
Juglans nigra
Polygonaceaea sps.
Mullago sps.
Gramineae sps.
Prunus persica
Rubus sps.
Fragaria virginiana
Vaccinium sps.
Polygonaceae sps.
Leguminoseae sps.
Prunus persica
Prunus persica
Carpetweed
Lambsquarter
Smartweed family
Blackberry / Raspberry
Fox grape
Grape
Grass
Sheep sorrel
Pea family
Blueberry
Strawberry
Elderberry
Pepper
Nightshade
Plum family
Peach
"lack Walnut
#
1
13
3
2
1
1
1
4
1
1
1
1
15
10
1
1
1
1
1
5
19
6
2
1
NF = Not floated.
*Oak.
'Shows evidence of rodent gnawing.
Fox Grape (Vitis labrusca) and rodent-gnawed
nut fragments. This feature also contained a
major proportion of the rodent-gnawed faunal
material from the site as a whole. The presence
of the bulkhead entry to the cellar coupled with
rodent-gnawed floral and faunal materials
suggests: 1) that the cellars were used as food
storage areas and 2) that stored food was also
being eaten by rodents.
Feature 27
During the excavations, feature 27 was
tentatively identified as a planting hole. This was
a logical interpretation given the general
configuration of the feature, its location along
the back wall of the boardinghouse, and the
unusual discovery of a nearly intact red
earthenware flowerpot within the feature. Soils
from both the feature matrix and from the
flowerpot were examined for macrobotanical
remains; none were recovered from the latter,
however. Two separate samples from the
feature matrix did contain botanical remains.
Among the seeds recovered were two of
elderberry (Sambucus canadensis), suggesting
that the planting hole once held an elderberry
bush. Elderberry is a shrub which stands 4-10 ft
in height and normally favors moist soils (Britton
and Brown 1898: 228). Elderberry is, however, a
highly adaptive plant which studies demonstrate
can thrive in urban environments where soils are
often low in nutrients, poorly drained, and high
in metals such as lead (Mrozowski 1987d: 67-72).
Ethnoarcheological research in Boston,
Massachusetts, revealed that in the case of at
least one household, an elderberry bush thrived
for more than 35 years before succumbing
because of a lack of sunlight caused by the
growth of an apple tree (Mrozowski 1987d: 153-
155). Recently completed analysis of samples
collected from the planting bed in which the
elderberry bush formerly stood found that seeds
of the plant were still present in the soils
although the tree died some 15 years ago.
The planting bed soils of this modern
household are relatively rich in nutrients
because of long-term composting. These
conditions may have contributed to the
preservation of the elderberry seeds, although
some seeds, chenopodiaceae, for example are
known to survive in the ground for close to a
century and possibly longer (Kaplan and Mania
1977: 40-53). Since the boardinghouse deposits
in question appear to date to the latter stages of
the 19th century, can the possibility be
entertained that the botanical remains are
evidence that an elderberry bush formerly stood
in Feature 27? This is difficult to say with any
clarity because pollen analysis (see Kelso this
volume) points to a feature matrix characterized
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 275
by reverse stratigraphy, not surprising given the
general nature of urban deposits. The presence
of other late 19th-century artifacts, buttons in
particular (see Ziesing this volume) indicates
that we are clearly dealing with redeposited fill,
comprised of soils that do appear to have come
from the yard. Therefore while it is possible that
the presence of elderberry seeds signals the
former use of Feature 27 as a planting hole for
an elderberry bush, it is equally possible that
such a bush could have stood anywhere in the
yard.
Feature 49
This shallow trench and soil stain contained a
small sample of seeds including smartweed,
grass, and carpetweed, all of which were in an
excellent state of preservation indicating they
are most likely modern intrusions. Of course
such an observation is made in full awareness of
the recent nature of all the boardinghouse
materials. In this case the difference, however,
rests with the state of preservation. No other
sample produced seeds that looked as modern
as those recovered from this feature.
Feature 37
This small brick-lined feature appears to have
been a drain box. A well preserved peach pit was
recovered from this feature during excavation.
Feature 40
This small pit feature in the yard produced 4
grape seeds and number of seeds from ruderals.
There are questions concerning the weed seeds,
however. Some appear to be modern in origin
and may have been deposited at the time the
boardinghouses were demolished. The Vitis
seeds appear to have been deposited at an early
stage in the life of the yard based on their
condition.
Feature 43
This feature contained 8 badly decomposed
fragments of what appears to be a cherry pit.
The identification, although tentative, is based
upon the texture of the outer shell and size.
Feature 44
This trench feature contained a number of nut
fragments which appear to be either elm or oak
seeds.
Feature 45
One of the more interesting discoveries from a
methodological point of view were the nut
fragments recovered from the boardinghouse
privy during its excavation. What is interesting
is that several samples were processed by
floatation and nothing was recovered.
Parasitological analysis of samples from this
feature produced evidence for horse pinworm
suggesting the feature fill contains material from
off the site.
Operation B: Unit #45
Only three contexts were sampled from
Operation B. These were Feature 61, unit 45's
privy, Feature 65, and Feature 67. No
macrofossil remains were recovered from the
latter two features. Feature 61, however, did
contain small but important plant remains from
its second level. Level 1 of the feature fill
appears to be the residue from the filling and
capping of the privy at the time it went out of
use. The nature of the sediments making up
level 2 of the feature remain unclear even after
analysis. Two samples from this level were
processed to determine the presence of parasite
ova (see Reinhard this volume). Sample #69
produced nothing while sample #70 produced a
single trichurid egg. Based on Jones' (1985)
suggestion that egg counts of approximately
20,000 per gram of soil should be expected from
samples of fecal origin, Reinhard has correctly
concluded that the soils from sample #70 should
not be consider as such. The presence of both
pollen (see Reinhard this volume) and plant
macrofossils (see Table 12-13) from the same
sample, however, suggests a small percentage of
the soils may be fecal in origin. While little
significance can be attached to these results with
respect to health conditions at the
boardinghouses, the presence of a trichurid egg
does lend some small amount of support for the
overall picture of conditions suggested by other
data.
Discussion
As has been the case throughout our research
in Lowell, the plant macrofossil samples from
the rear yards of the boardinghouses have
proven to be small and rather poorly preserved.
Only in instances when conditions were
conducive to good preservation have results
been promising. The overall results from the
Unit #48, the tenement, indicate a landscape
276 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
characterized by ruderals; not an unexpected
discovery. The presence of an elderberry bush
in the yard is possible, although the evidence is
limited. It is supported, however, by the pollen
analysis (Kelso this volume). There is good
correlation between pollen and macrofossil
results with respect to the potential presence of
Vitis, grapes in the yard. The appearance of
pollen from what could be Vitis coupled with the
presence of grape seeds in feature contexts
raises the possibility that grapes were being
grown in the yard of the tenement. Another
interesting discovery was that food storage in the
tenement cellar appears to have encouraged
rodent activity.
The results from Unit #45 are also of limited
interpretive value although perhaps more so
than those from Unit #48. The sample from
feature 61 contains the seeds of several plants
that were probably consumed by residents of the
boardinghouse. The presence of seeds of
strawberry, blueberry, and blackberry in Feature
61 and grape, peach and elderberry remains
from other contexts from both units are
reminiscent of previous results which indicated
that in spite of their lack of mention in
documentary records fresh fruits were a part of
the boardinghouse diet. An obvious possibility is
that they were used as pie filling, or they could
have been eaten plain, or used in preserves.
Perhaps their lack of notoriety is the result of use
on a seasonal basis.
The other discovery of interest is the
leguminoseae seed recovered from the same
sample as the fruit seeds noted above. The seed
appears to be a green pea similar to those used
today in pea soup. Its presence is far from
startling, since hearty soups were regular entries
of boardinghouse menus.
Information relating to the plant communities
present in the yard of Unit #45 can only be
gleaned from previous results, which indicate
the presence of nightshade and other ruderals
(Mrozowski 1987c: 150). In this sense the rear
yard appears to be similar to that of Unit #48;
this is based solely on the macrobotanical
analysis, however, and, as other results indicate,
differences did exist.
Drawing comparisons between the
boardinghouse and tenement is difficult
because of the disparity in sample size. Taken
together, however, several conclusions can be
drawn. The most notable is the presence of fresh
fruits noted above. It is interesting to speculate
on the possiblity that grapes and elderberry may
have been grown in the yard of the tenement.
Such a strategy certainly would have been in
keeping with the economizing behavior that has
been indicated by so many of the data collected.
It also suggests that, like the rear yard of the
Agents' House, the boardinghouse lots
continued to be utilized for utilitarian purposes;
a pattern more consistent with preindustrial,
urban household practices.
Contextual Archaeology at the Boardinghouses 277
Conclusions
Each analytical approach to these backlots
makes a unique contribution to our knowledge
of lifeways in the Boott Mills boardinghouses.
Macrofossils and phytoliths testify to the wide
variety of fruits in the millworker's diet, but
chemical analysis indicates that they stood in
peril of lead poisoning. Parasite data register the
presence of domestic animal feces on the site,
while pollen site formation measures record
filling pattens and idiosyncratic acts in backlot
features. Macrofossils and parasites
independently confirm the osteological
evidence for the presence of rodents in the
vicinity.
Our concerted effort has been, however, to
integrate these scientific/technical studies in a
genuine cross-disciplinary investigation rather
than generating another example of the clusters
of unconnected multi-disciplinary reports that
appear as appendices under the "cross-
disciplinary" rubric at the rear of archeological
monographs. This involved frequent
communication, sharing both of data and ideas
and a willingness to modify or expand individual
studies to test postulates suggested by other
data sources. The inviting interpretations that
died at birth because of this communication are
too numerous to mention. That in itself was
beneficial. Positive results were also achieved.
This is most evident in the land-use data
provided by the 21N/8W northwest profile and
contemporaneous deposits.
Our projected palynological ragweed to grass
to ragweed record of land use was confirmed by
the pollen spectra of this profile, but must be
interpreted differently than originally
hypothesized. The deepest wind-pollinated
Compositae pollen peak reflects pre-Boott
agricultural weeds, but the grass pollen was
apparently derived from the lawn of Kirk Boott' s
mansion rather than from the postulated
pleasant, grassy boardinghouse backlot. The
backlot surface during the early and mid-19th
century (the mill girl and family eras) appears to
have supported a relatively limited groundcover
of a few weeds with some grass. The weed
populations expanded further at the expense of
grass during the late 19th and early 20th-century
immigrant male-dominated occupation interval
as trash accumulated in what symbolically
oriented archeologists (Hodder 1986) might
perceive as a reflection of worker attitudes
toward both the corporation and its
housekeeping policies. Pollen concentration
data indicate that weeds continued to dominate
the flora of the early 20th-century storehouse
period but that the number of plants actually
growing on and around the probably work-
packed backlot decreased markedly.
The phytolith data are differently distributed
through the profile because biological silica is
not so readily moved by groundwater as pollen
(Rovner 1986: 23), but the groundcover sequence
indicated by this class of fossils is very similar to
that suggested by pollen. A majority of
phytoliths attributable to economically
important or lawn grasses (Festucoid) in the
deepest productive sample is replaced by an
equal mix of these lawn types and weed grasses
(Chloridoid) in the early and middle
boardinghouse occupation deposits, and the
sequence is capped by samples dominated by
phytoliths attributable to weedy taxa.
A distribution of macrofossils reflecting such
landscape maintenance is also evident. Weed
seeds were virtually absent from the general
yard sediments of the main occupation period
but dominated the immediate pre-dismantling
deposits of the drains and other water control
features examined during the initial
boardinghouse investigation (Mrozowski and
Kelso 1987: 149-150). The higher phosphate
concentrations in the occupation period soils
compared to the storehouse-era deposits
suggest at least some organic garbage disposal
in the backlot, and most of the seeds recovered
from the backlot proper were food waste
products. These had, however, been placed in
features, implying acknowledgement of the
corporation's concern for appearances (cf. Bond,
Chapter 3, this volume).
Multiple data sources were also applied to the
question of corporation compliance with the
April 1890 Lowell Board of Health order to
remove all privies. Documentary sources
suggest that the privies may have gone out of
service even before the order was issued, while
the material culture record implies that they
were not filled until post-1910 (Bond, Ziesing,
this volume). Macrofossil, parasite, soil
chemistry, and pollen data from feature 61 all
indicate that this privy, at least, was emptied but
not thoroughly cleaned before it was filled. Site
formation data in the privy pollen profile
indicate two filling episodes. The deeper portion
of the privy fill, where no artifacts were
recovered, was inserted as a filling event
separate from the post-1910 deposit recorded by
archeology alone. The remnant vault contents
from the period of active use may not have been
278 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
covered immediately but did not remain
exposed for 20 years. Pollen data indicate that
the filling episode dated post-1910 probably
records the dismantling of the privy
superstructure.
The Boott Mills boardinghouse project
demonstrates that a cross-disciplinary approach
to a given archeological problem serves to
bolster the confidence both of the analysts and
of the readers in the ultimate interpretation of
the data. Correlations among the results of
archival research, excavators' observations,
material culture analysis, and
scientific/technical studies of the site matrix are
remarkable. They permit an anthropological
interpretation of living conditions in the
board inghouses that integrates local, culturally
created environment, corporate policy, and
occupant practice and attitudes.
Chapter 13
DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS
by Stephen A. Mrozowski and Mary C. Beaudry
Throughout the course of our work in Lowell,
the interdisciplinary nature of the research has
generated data pertaining to a constellation of
historical and archeological issues. In this the
third and final report planned for the project we
have sought to balance interpretive concerns
with concern for substance. Therefore much
effort has been expended catering to detail,
especially in the analysis of material culture and
environmental data. To a certain degree the
results of this work can stand alone, with little
need for further elaboration. The interpretive
potential of these data is enormous, but
endeavoring to connect the various lines of
evidence to construct some monolithic
statement would be both cumbersome and ill-
advised. First of all, we have come to appreciate
the complexity of the subject we seek to
understand and the peril we face in reducing our
attempts at explanation and interpretation of it
to any limited set of variables. In the present
monograph, we do not expect to exhaust the
interpretive avenues these data have opened for
us. Much thought and consideration remain on
the horizon, however. Our goals remain
interpretive and anthropological with the proviso
that generalizations are best grounded in the
detailed description of particular cases (cf.
Hodder 1987a: 2; see Courbin 1988 for an
extended discussion of the need for more
attention to data).
Here we offer commentary and observations
on our work in light of how it pertains to a variety
of issues in the study of 19th-century industrial
cities, working people, and material culture from
an archeological point of view.
In spite of the forethought put into the
boardinghouse system, the results of our study
provide testimony to the endeavors of the
Boott's workers to retain some control over their
lives. It is this evidence of boundaries crossed,
rules broken, and authority challenged that
brings Lowell's past back to life in human terms.
The actors in this drama are visible; some we
even know by name (see Praetzellis and
Praetzellis 1989a, 1989b for examples of what
they term 'archaeological biography'), and we
know the conditions in which they lived. It is
through an examination of the conditions that
obtained in the boardinghouses and
boardinghouse yards that we can begin to
construct a clearer image of how life was lived
within the boardinghouse system. Before
moving into a discussion of what we have
learned about conditions in the backlots and
how these changed over time, we offer some
observations on the role a site structural/site
formation process approach has to play in
historical archeology.
Conditions in the Boardinghouses and Then-
Yards
Site Formation Processes and the Nature of the
Archeological Record
For an archeologist, any cultural
interpretation, however elegant, is meaningless
unless it is based on data collected from
controlled archeological contexts. This is why the
study of archeological formation processes has
become such a central issue in archeology (see,
e.g., Schiffer 1988) and why looking at individual
cases in great detail is so important. The
contextual analysis of the yard deposits from the
boardinghouses also demonstrates with some
clarity how rapidly-occurring events can be
influential in structuring the archeological
record. Kelso's work in particular provides an
elegant illustration of how palynology can serve
as a sensitive tool for constructing the natural
and cultural transforms discussed by Schiffer
(1972, 1988). Through the examination and study
of plant pollen, Kelso and Fisher have been able
to chronicle the changes in flora of the
boardinghouse yards and of Lowell in general.
The evidence from both phytolith and
macrofossil analysis complements the pollen
data well enough to foster a truly
interdisciplinary synthesis concerning the
nature of the plant communities in the
boardinghouse backlots.
On complex urban sites contextual analysis is
often a prerequisite for any more ambitious
social examination. At both the boardinghouses
and the agent's house it has proved to be the key
to understanding the close ties between
archeological formation processes and human
behavior. This is especially true when time is
added to the equation through the analysis of
material culture. It provides the temporal
dimension so vital for linking individual
279
280 The Board inghouse System as a Way of Life
depositional events with human action. In the
urban context, where rapid events often shape
the archeological record, the cross-disciplinary
approach is critical. We have become
increasingly conscious of just how critical
environmental analyses geared toward the
understanding of formation processes are to our
goals of delineating and understanding cultural
and historical processes, be it inadvertent
cultural acts leading to environmental change or
degradation, the developmental cycle of
households, or the material expression of widely-
held social values or even of small-scale, self-
conscious, individual expression of group
affiliation it terms of ethnicity, subculture, or
class.
Theorists grappling with the notion of
evolutionary process have employed the
concept of punctuated equilibrium to account
for the fact that evolutionary stability is
frequently interrupted by events that can set a
species on a new genetic course. In other words,
species undergo periods of stability, remaining
relatively unchanged over long periods of time,
then suddenly experience a mutational spurt — a
micro- or macro-mutation. Micro-mutations
interrupt stasis but do not produce new species;
macro-mutations result in full-scale evolutionary
change (Lewin 1980: 884; Poirier 1987: 33). The
archeological record of human action — the
systemic context, as it were — records similar
sorts of events, not necessarily evolutionary in
character, but having to do with cultural and
social stability and with change over time. We
noted in our conclusions to the Kirk Street
Agents' House study (Beaudry and Mrozowski
1987b; see also Fisher and Kelso 1987) that a
detailed contextual approach with attention to
taphonomic processes (especially of pollen and
phytolith corrosion indices) makes it possible to
link both major and minor perturbations in the
household cycle with the formation of the
archeological record.
We do not hesitate to proselytize on this
subject. Doing archeology involves
understanding the archeological record, not
mining it for artifacts. Historical archeologists at
times have difficulty addressing through their
analyses of disparate artifact categories the
broad social and anthropological issues in which
they profess interest (cf. Brown 1987); this is
perhaps because they are all too often in far too
much of a hurry to get the dirt off of their
material in order to study it. The site matrix
comprises soil plus artifacts, and it is often the
soil that contains most of the data — or from
which the preponderance of the data can be
extracted.
Kelso and Fisher especially (see Chapter 12)
have found they needed to develop new
methods and procedures in order to accomplish
their aims. Use of pollen and phytolith data
beyond environmental reconstruction to
examine formation processes in detail requires
different extraction techniques and larger grain
counts than is usual. Kelso and Fisher point out
that pollen from historical deposits may be less
well preserved than that from ancient soils but is
there nonetheless (Kelso and Fisher, Chapter 12;
see also Kelso and Beaudry n.d.). An extraction
procedure that does not acetylize the sample
and counts of a minimum of 400 grains per
sample are necessary for good palynological
results from historical sites. Further,
comparative samples, preferably taken from
contiguous column profiles at 2-cm intervals,
provide the best means of integrating data
derived from soil chemistry, palynology,
phytolith, and floated macrofossil remains.
One of the most important purposes of this
form of analysis is to unravel the complexities of
the archeological record itself. As was the case
at the Kirk Street Agents' House, the
archeological record at the boardinghouses has
been strongly influenced by short-term events.
Feature 61 (the privy behind unit #45), for
example, was filled rapidly during the latter
stages of the 19th century. Much of the
contextual record speaks to the events that
came into play as the boardinghouse system
began to enter its twilight. The results indicate
that although refuse was disposed of in the
yards, the company's wishes that the lots be kept
clean were generally adhered to for much of the
19th century. Ruderals, evidenced by both
pollen and macrofossils, appear to have been
restricted to the borders of the yards or perhaps
sprang up in small cracks between wooden
planks thrown down to provide walkways through
what were at times muddy backlots (at other
times, they would have been dry and dusty — and
an ersatz paving of any sort would have also
helped to keep the dust down). The presence of
weeds clearly increased during the waning years
of the 19th century. Whether this was the result
of a growing ambivalence on the part of the
corporation or merely the end of its involvement
remains unclear. What the data do seem to
indicate is a period of decay towards the end of
the 19th century.
Weeds were not the only plants that grew in
the backlots, however, as planting holes, ivy and
grape pollen, and grape seeds attest. It is not
surprising to learn that ivy was planted against
the back walls of some of the boardinghouses;
we have photographic evidence of this (Figure
Conclusions 281
Figure 13-1. Stercopticon view, ca. 1889, showing unidentified workers standing outside
Boott housing in Amory Street. The Boott Mills complex is to the right; to the left, the
end of a boardinghosue block can be seen. The narrow wooden structure with a pitched
roof is a woodshed; note the opening or gate into the fenced backlot and ivy growing up
the rear wall of the boardinghouse. (Courtesy of the University of Lowell Special
Collections and the Lowell Historical Society.)
282 The Board inghouse System as a Way of Life
13-1). It did come as something of a surprise to
consider that some boardinghouse residents
might have had grape arbors. But this, too, is not
out of place; it would be far more surprising to
find no evidence whatever of gardening in the
backlots (cf. Sam Bass Warner's To Dwell is to
Garden, 1987).
Conditions in the Yards
Conditions in the boardinghouse yards can be
inferred from refuse disposal patterns,
palynological evidence and the results of both
macrofossil and soil analysis. In terms of
disposal patterns, much of the faunal material,
for example, was recovered from sealed
contexts, such as pits, or was associated with
enclosed spaces such as cellars or crawlspaces
beneath ells. Deposition of sheet refuse did not
occur until the late 19th century; evidence for
this comes from ceramics, glass bottle
fragments, and clay pipe stem fragments. Of 35
ceramic sherds with maker's marks, 20 were
identifiable. Of these, two were manufactured
between 1843 and 1867; all the rest dated to after
1870. Over 700 machine-made bottle fragments
were recovered from two Boott privies that were
excavated, revealing both a late date (ca. 1910)
for filling privies ordered out in 1890 as well as
clandestine disposal of alcoholic beverage
containers. Of the marked clay pipes from
Scotland, 25% (18) are marked "Glasgow," and
75% are marked "Scotland," indicating a late
date for much of the material. By the end of the
19th century, despite city-wide trash collection,
the boardinghouse yards were still used for
refuse disposal.
During the early period of the Boott's history
the yards were well maintained, as evidenced by
relatively stable grass pollen frequencies. The
decline in grass pollen frequencies coincides
with an increase in ragweed pollen as well as
with the appearance of sheet refuse. This
ground-cover pattern is considerably different
than that reconstructed for the rear yard of the
Kirk Street Agents' House (see Beaudry and
Mrozowski 1987b). The rear yard of the agent's
house appears to have served utilitarian
purposes — it was heavily trafficked and rich in
trashy deposits — while the front and side yards
had an ornamental function as an extension of
the building's facade. In the rear yard, varying
contributions of goosefoot (Chenopodiaceae),
ragweed (Compositae), and Aster-type (insect-
pollinated Compositae) pollen correlate with
stratigraphic evidence of changing human
activities. A pattern of declining ragweed-type
weeds and increasing grass percentages reflects
progressive soil stabilization in what had been an
active backlot. This pattern is the reverse of that
observed at the boardinghouses, where initial
stabilization was followed by a yard increasingly
dominated by weeds (Mrozowski and Kelso 1987;
Kelso 1987a, 1989; Kelso and Fisher, this
volume). While the conditions in the
boardinghouse yards began changing during
the third quarter of the 19th century, when
corporations appear to have focused primary
attention on the most public aspects of their
housing, full-blown deterioration set in after the
Boott sold its housing to a Boston slumlord in the
1890s. It is this decline that the archeological
record records with unmistakable clarity
(Mrozowski et al. 1989).
Not every unsanitary or unhealthy aspect of
the boardinghouses stemmed from corporate
neglect, however. Remarkably high lead counts
in the soils of the boardinghouse backlots are
probably a by-product of the corporation's
annual painting and whitewashing activities. Soil
contamination would have posed a health
hazard to boardinghouse residents nearly as
serious as that posed by the contaminated water
they drank (Mrozowski et al. 1989). Lead
poisoning can, among other things, cause
psychological disorders — especially among
children (see, e.g., Needleman et al. 1979: 689-
696; Yaffe et al. 1983: 237-245; see also White
1973). It has been assumed for some time that
lead poisoning results from eating vegetables
grown in lead-contaminated soils; there is now
evidence, however, that links it more directly to
the soils themselves. Very often lead enters the
body when people, gardeners, for instance, who
work in lead-contaminated soils fail to wash their
hands properly before eating (Schmitt et al. 1979:
1474-1478; Yaffe et al. 1983: 237-245). Lead can
also enter through the eyes, however, which
means wind-blown soils would also present a
hazard (Mrozowski 1987b; Mrozowski et al. 1989).
Soils analysis conducted at the Agents' House
site revealed that the backlot soils were relatively
low in lead content (Mrozowski 1987b) In all 17
samples tested, figures for lead content ranged
from a low of 20 ppm to a high of 431 ppm. Soil
samples recovered from modern gardens in
Boston, Massachusetts, by comparison, ranged
from a low of 20 ppm to several with counts of
1250 to 2419 ppm — all of which are quite high
(Mrozowski 1987b: 251-266). Fisher's analysis of
soils from the boardinghouse backlots found
lead counts comparable to some of those seen in
Boston. These figures are striking considering
that the boardinghouse deposits have been
sealed and therefore unaffected by automobile
exhaust emissions while the agent's house yard
Conclusions 283
has been open to the air. What this seems to
indicate is that the annual whitewashing
campaigns touted so highly by the corporations
as evidence of proper upkeep of their housing
had the insidious and unexpected side effect of
contaminating the backlot soils. Hence even the
good intentions of corporations striving to
maintain appearances through yearly coats of
paint could have contributed unknown and
unsuspected threats to an environment already
rife with hazards.
As large a role as the corporation played in the
lives of its workers, there were other forces that
were equally influential. The emergence of
middle-class cultural values during the 19th
century, evident in the archeological and
documentary record of the Kirk Street Agents'
House, is also visible in the material culture of
the boardinghouse residents. Through an
analysis of the material world of the mill workers
it is possible to gain detailed insight into the
processes that contribute to the development of
cultural values and how material culture serves
as an active medium of cultural expression.
Material Expressions of Culture
If there is a common theme that connects the
various interpretations drawn from the analysis
of the material record it is how the material
world is employed in cultural expression. The
relationship of behavior to the material world is
far from passive. Cook's fine analysis of smoking
equipment and leisure behavior demonstrates
how even mass-produced items such as humble
clay pipes can be actively manipulated as a
strategy for cultural expression. The same is
true of Ziesing's findings concerning personal
items. She notes that most of the items of
jewelry recovered from the boardinghouses were
inexpensive imitations of costlier items.
Although less imbued with conscious
connotations of class than short-stemmed pipes,
cheap costume jewelry in imitation of "the real
thing" served the aspirations of those who
worked in the factories. Perhaps it is ironic that
so many who spent hour upon hour laboring in
the mills producing fortunes for others would
leave such a humble legacy of buttons, glass
'gems' and liquor bottles. For while the
archeological and documentary record provide
testimony to the power of corporate paternalism
and the boardinghouse system, those same data
evoke expression, if not of resistance, of personal
aspirations and self-expression. Despite the fact
that limited economic means placed genuine
impediments in the way of the material wants of
Lowell's mill workers, evidence of adaptive
behavior — as Cook notes in Chapter 11, of the
creation of subculture — is visible. It is visible in
the use of medicines more desirable for their
alcohol content than their efficacy in curing
illness. It is also expressed in the use of white
clay pipes as expressions of class affiliation and
even of class pride.
In the end what the results tell us is that
culture is fluid, more a dialogue than a static set
of rules. The boardinghouse system was
constructed on a set of cultural values. Its
founders sought to secure its permanence by
giving their vision expression in brick and
mortar. The overall success of their attempts at
social control is undeniable, but the material
record also reveals how workers found avenues
for expression.
The management policy of the corporations
involved paternalism, but it was a paternalism
without rights. It was in leisure behavior and off-
work time, as well as personal dress and
comportment, that individual workers expressed
themselves and signalled the affiliations of
ethnicity, subculture, and class.
Quite intriguing to consider in this regard is
the use of tea wares and comparatively
elaborate table settings by tenement residents.
This contrasts with the patterning of the
boardinghouse ceramic assemblage and can be
linked to household composition — corporate
versus nuclear household — as well as to cultural
values. Recent work of other historical
archeologists provides us with the means for
understanding the nature of these differences
and the reasons for them. Wall (1987) was able
to demonstrate through the analysis of a series
of ceramic assemblages from 18th- and 19th-
century New York City that such tablewares
closely reflect a new set of values that emerged
as urbanization and industrialization took place
(see also Mrozowski 1988, who ties the
widespread values of the 19th century to
developments in 18th-century American cities).
Ceramic assemblages from late in the second
quarter of the 19th century tend to reflect a set of
ideals that developed more or less as a response
to changing social conditions brought about by
industrialization and the emergence of the
middle class. Chief among these values was the
notion of separation of the home and the
workplace, with woman's sphere being at home
and proper work for women being running a
household (but not necessarily physically
engaging in housework).
This notion of striving for refinement and
middle class status through adoption of middle
class standards for polite entertaining and social
display (cf. Jean-Louis Flandrin, Distinction
284 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
through Taste, 1989), especially through tea
drinking, is of interest in that it adds a dimension
to ceramic analysis beyond economic
considerations. It is obvious that ceramics were
often symbols as much as they were everyday
objects; historical archeologists are increasingly
willing to interpret their ceramic assemblages in
light of the multiple functions they served in
order to place their use in its proper cultural
context: Burley 1989 and Yentsch n.d.a are
especially fine examples of such analyses. Such
studies bring women into focus, revealing how,
especially in 19th-century homes, women
influenced the nature of the household. An
example from Fort Independence in Boston,
Massachusetts, makes this clear. Clements
(1989) found that critical differences occurred
between the ceramic and glassware not so much
in the assemblages of officers versus enlisted
men but between married and bachelor officers.
Deposits from households of married officers
had by far the greater proportion of
serving/entertaining vessels (e.g., tureens,
platters, tea wares, etc.). Both assemblages had
drinking vessels — stemware and tumblers — but
deposits from the bachelors' quarters had
significantly more vessels related to alcohol
consumption than to tea and coffee drinking or
even to food consumption (probably because
bachelor officers ate in the mess hall). The
presence of women hence had an unmistakable
effect on the archeological record; the stabilizing
influence of women was not lost on the U.S.
Army, which encouraged its officers to marry.
This afforded them respectability as well as
stability, something the military valued highly in
its early years when it was faced with public
opposition to a standing army and fear —
especially in major urban centers — of the
possible ill effects of bringing large numbers of
unattached, transient males into the community.
It seems likely that the differences between
ceramic assemblages at the Boott
boardinghouse and tenement can similarly be
attributed to the differences in household
makeup. While women were present and
perhaps outnumbered males in both
households, married women whose families
rented Boott tenements could aspire to stable
family life and could put into practice the values
linked to the domestic ideology of the 19th
century. Such notions of domesticity found
material expression in manifold ways, many of
which are preserved or represented in the
archeological record, while others can be
interred from the documentary evidence.
Boardinghouses and Domestic Ideology
As Landon points out in Chapter 4, the new
domestic ideology, even though it may initially
have been an outgrowth in response to just such
conditions as those in the mill towns, had an
influence on boardinghouse keeping. Landon
(Chapter 4) and Landon and Beaudry (1988)
explored the ways in which domestic ideology
validated and legitimated boardinghouse
keeping as a profession for women. We have
also noted elsewhere (Beaudry and Mrozowski
1988) that ready adoption of certain elements of
new technology may have been fostered under
the boardinghouse system, suggesting that shifts
in domestic technology played a large part in
changes that took place in the backlots of both
the boardinghouses and at the Kirk Street
Agents' House — especially after ells were added
to these structures. The concept of domestic
technology, drawn from Strasser's use of the
term in her study of American housework, Never
Done: A History of American Housework (1982),
is especially useful because it permits a
distinction among three related concepts:
domesticity or domestic ideology as a widely-
held set of values regarding women's roles and
the separation of home and workplace; domestic
economy as a set of principles for proper
housekeeping; and domestic technology as the
material expression of the aforementioned
principles and beliefs.
It is possible that the addition of ells to the
rear of the boardinghouse units was part of
modernization and innovation that
characterized the new domestic technology.
Hubka (1984: 125) points out that the working ells
of rural farm houses
were the pride of modern, efficient farmers who
made their ells a focal point for agricultural and
domestic improvement. The ell was a place of
applied technology and contained the latest labor-
saving devices....
Such devices included the cookstove as well as
the set kettle or boiler. The ell shown in Figure
7-11, a Bay State Mills boardinghouse in
Lawrence, Massachusetts, contains several of
such appliances, these chiefly designed for
doing laundry.
Food and Health
Food and the behaviors associated with its
procurement, consumption, and presentation
offer the archeologist with a wide range of
analytical and interpretive avenues. At the
boardinghouses, evidence of foodways practices
has come primarily from three sources of data:
Conclusions 285
faunal, plant macrofossil, and ceramic analysis.
Each of the three sets of data furnish
information on different dimensions of the
foodways system at the boardinghouses. The
faunal analysis, for example, alerts us to the
important role meat had in the diets of the mill
workers. Meats like beef, pork and mutton were
the preferred choices, in contrast to fish or fowl,
which are poorly represented in the faunal
assemblage. The macrofossil analysis indicates
that fresh fruits were available in the
boardinghouses. at least on a seasonal basis.
Perhaps their seasonal availability is one reason
why no mention of such fruits is made in the
Lowell dietaries published in the late 19th
century. It may also be that fruits were viewed as
secondary in importance to meats and other
foodstuffs recorded in the dietaries.
A further outcome of the faunal analysis
reveals boardinghouse keepers' attempts to
economize in food purchase. This practice
accounts not only for the character of the faunal
assemblage and the types of meat cuts it
represents, but also for the nature of much of the
rest of the material culture recovered from the
boardinghouse backlots. Ceramics, personal
items such as jewelry and hair combs, clay pipes,
patent medicines, and beverages all were
purchased with an eye to economy — in some
cases the economy was engendered by 'the
system' under which boardinghouse keepers
could profit by cutting corners, on the other
hand, for workers frugality was a necessity. They
bought what they could afford, and personal
choice was restricted by the price range of goods.
The ceramic analysis resulted in some highly
interesting findings. Dutton's exhaustive
analysis using a variety of techniques seems to
conclude that only minor differences separate
the assemblages of the boardinghouse and the
tenement. The point of departure, a greater
concern for higher quality tea and coffee wares
among the tenement's inhabitants, signals just
how subtle material expressions of distinctions
can be. Even in an instance such as this, where
the separation is more a product of
demographic makeup or household
composition than it is of class, the material
record has proved to be a sensitive indicator of
social differences. The presence of tea wares is
probably in large measure attributable to the
fact that families resided in the tenements (cf.
Figures 13-2, 13-3), while the boardinghouse was
home for single folk. At the same time
entertainment-related ceramics like those
recovered from the tenement are indicative of
emerging middle-class values whose influence
is evident in other categories of material culture
as well. Neverthe less we can also see friction in
the area of class-based values; the spread of
middle-class mores among workers at times met
with decided resistance.
Class-Based Notions of Fitness and Well Being
Social historian Gareth Stedman Jones (1977),
in discussing studies of working-class popular
recreation and leisure, notes that much of the
information about such behavior comes from
the writings of reformers and other "purveyors of
minority causes, distasteful not only to workers
but to the bulk of the middle class" (Jones 1977:
165), leaving "our knowledge of these ideologies
and the material situations which they
articulated. ..in. ..an extremely primitive state"
(Jones 1977: 163). Research into non-work time
and the different ways workers have used it must
first of all take into consideration the primacy of
work: "the social relations within which it is
carried on, in the determination of class position
and in the articulation of class attitudes" (Jones
1977: 170). Jones points out that worker attitudes
toward leisure pursuits were often inconsistent,
and that while working class leisure activities
often were characterized as 'traditional,'
traditions were far from static. Workers could
and did 'invent' new traditions; it may be that the
content of popular recreations was not as
significant as their existence in the first place —
that the form was fluid because workers were
willing to transform their leisure so long as they
did not have to give it up.
Sociologists have found that notions of fitness
and well being tend to be class based and linked
to moral concerns (Glassner 1988). In our own
society, the body has become a status symbol;
eating properly and exercising to maintain a
slim form takes time and money. Middle and
upper class interviewees condemn people who
eat at fast food restaurants, repeatedly stating
the belief that if only poor people were informed
about what is good for them, they would change
their behavior; they also use highly charged
moralistic terms to describe eating behaviors
(e.g., "I was bad," "I was sinful."). (Restaurants
play along with this, giving desserts names like
"Chocolate Sin," etc.] In many ways those who
keep fit see themselves as moral reformers,
making the world a better place by cutting down
on their cholesterol consumption.
Yet working class people, who are constantly
preached to on this and other topics, resist what
sociologist Robert Crawford has called the
"Horatio Alger myth of fitness" — the version of
well being that takes time and money and
purposeful effort — to acquire. Workers tend to
286 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
Figure 13-2. An unidentified Polish family pose on the stoop of their Boott tenement, ca.
1912. (Reproduced from Kenngott 1912.)
Conclusions 287
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288 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
define well being as the freedom to do what they
want: to be able-bodied and fit enough to stay
awake after the shift, whether to have a beer with
the fellows or to do nothing at all. Working class
leisure activity is thus often unstructured and
often counterproductive in terms of actual
physical fitness but nevertheless leads to a sense
of personal well being. Perceptions of health
and well being contribute strongly to notions of
self-esteem; people who believe themselves to
be in good physical condition experience a sense
of well being that may bear little relation to their
actual level of physical fitness.
If 19th-century worker leisure behavior and
the material culture associated with it are seen
as class based, it is likely that during that
century, as in the present, attitudes about health
and well being — and their material
expressions — similarly reflected class
distinctions. Nineteenth-century writers were
often offended by what seemed to them to be
idle loitering on the part of working class
people — sitting on their front steps in
shirtsleeves, smoking clay pipes and /or drinking
in public, etc. (cf. Cook 1989). What is more,
reformers linked such public behaviors to issues
of morality and preached against them.
Knowing this and knowing that the moralistic
aspect of concepts of fitness is still with us, we
may be able to circumvent the tendency to
represent the contradictions generated by class-
based perceptions health and well being in
terms of a present-day "rational and moral"
public aesthetic of fitness.
Nutrition and Food Preferences
An example can be drawn from the study of
foodways at the Lowell boardinghouses.
Landon's documentary research and
zooarcheological analysis revealed that workers
living in corporation housing had a diet
dominated by fatty meats and foods high in
starch and carbohydrates (Landon 1987, 1989).
With the benefit of hindsight and 20th-century
knowledge of food chemistry (not to mention
20th-century attitudes toward nutrition), we
could make a case for Lowell's workers having a
poor and monotonous diet. That is, if we
considered only the empirical facts we have
assembled, we might think ourselves justified in
characterizing boardinghouse foodways as
inadequate in nutrients and lacking in variety.
Nowhere in the written sources, however, is
there any indication that this diet was
considered inadequate or boring by those who
consumed it (Landon 1987). Rather, it was
viewed as "substantial and wholesome. ..neatly
served, and in sufficient abundance" (Miles
1846: 72). The key seems to have been quantity:
workers were more worried about getting
enough food than they were with variety or with
actual nutritional content. Variety was not used
in the modern sense of different cuisines or
cooking styles; rather, variety referred to having
a wide selection of items at any given meal —
potatoes, turnips, peas, etc., all of which may
have been boiled, as well as meat dishes,
breadstuffs, and baked goods or sweets. That
boiled foods often predominated in
boardinghouse cooking is suggested by an
advice column published in the July 7, 1889,
Worcester Sunday Telegram (p. 2) by "YOUR
Friend and Well Wisher"
Before engaging board make a cautious inspection of
the premises, and be sure to sniff the odors which
prevail in the front hall and are to a certain extent
an index of the character of the house. There is a
certain "boiled" smell which is frequently
encountered in such places, and against which I
warn you. In that house the food will all taste
alike and remind you in a condensed form of the
smell to which I have alluded.
Domestic reformer Catherine Beecher
devoted an entire chapter of her treatise The
American Woman's Home (Beecher and Stowe
18691 ) to the subject of healthful food, another to
good cooking. If we interpret Beecher's targeted
areas of reform as providing inadvertent clues to
usual behavior and attitudes (in a manner
similar to the way court records, with their
unavoidable focus on aberrant behavior, reveal
the limits of the socially acceptable), we begin to
see that food in the boardinghouses probably
was not unlike what Yankee mills girls had eaten
at home on the farm. Beecher (Beecher and
Stowe 1869: 127-128) equated overeating with
intemperance.
It is a much safer rule, to have only one kind of
healthy food, for each meal, than the too abundant
variety which is often met at the tables of almost
all classes in this country.
It seems that the hearty appetites of farmers and
laboring people were shared by most 19th-
century diners. It further seems unlikely that
mill workers were much affected by attempts at
dietary reform; thirty or so years later, turn-of-
the-century reformers found immigrant mill
households as well as boardinghouses had a diet
little changed from that described for early 19th-
century workers (cf. Atwater 1886; Byington 1910).
It is also true that satisfaction with food in the
boardinghouses stemmed in large measure
Harriet Beecher Stowe is listed as co-author but
apparently did not contribute to the volume.
Conclusions 289
from the fact that the food was indeed perceived
to be nutritious and healthful.
Dietary shifts over the 19th century stemmed
more from technological innovations and from
the side effects of environmental degradation
than from attitudinal change. An 1833 account
by a visitor to Lowell noted with approbation that
boarders were obliged to eat salmon only once a
week (Josephson 1949: 68); at that time, salmon
were plentiful in the Merrimack River, and their
abundance meant they were cheap and readily
available (Coburn 1920: 63). By 1870, however,
fish on boardinghouse menus were limited to
inexpensive ocean catches such as cod and
haddock (Atwater 1886; Singer 1985: 112). Not
only had the Merrimack been dammed to
provide water power for the mills — making it
impossible for the salmon to return upriver to
spawn — the river was polluted by the wastes of
rapidly expanding industry and urban
population.
Boardinghouse keepers, on the other hand,
adopted certain elements of domestic reform (or
at least domestic science) with alacrity.
Technological innovations in food preparation
(e.g., cooking stoves and ranges) and in food
storage — canning, for instance — were readily
accepted (Landon 1987a, 1989; Landon and
Beaudry 1988). They helped the keeper
economize and avoid waste. Whether they
contributed to the health of boardinghouse
inmates is another matter.
The Boardinghouse as Home
Despite improvements in domestic
technology, however, the impression of
conditions in the boardinghouses is one of
overall technological backwardness.
Innovations were seldom introduced by the
corporations, and labor-saving devices when
present were purchased or rented by the keeper.
For the most part, sense of hominess was
created by incorporating into the boardinghouse
setting a few carefully chosen icons of middle-
class domesticity (Cohen 1986: 269-270). Primary
among these was the parlor piano, the presence
of which was repeatedly noted with approbation
by residents and visitors alike.2 Lucy Larcom, in
her memoir, "Among Lowell Mill-Girls: A
Reminiscence," (1881: 212; reprinted in Bryant
and Rae 1950: 196-215), seemed to find it odd
2
For a review of the significance of the parlor in
nineteenth-century America, see McMurry (1985: 261-
280); on the significance of parlor organs and pianos, see
Ames (1980).
that Charles Dickens made special note of the
presence of pianos in some of the
boardinghouses. An anonymous author noted in
an 1886 Boston Sunday Globe article, "Mill Life:
A Tour among the Spinners and Weavers. How
They Work and How They Live...." that he visited
a Lowell boardinghouse and was received in the
parlor, "which was a handsomely-furnished
apartment." An illustration accompanying the
article depicts a full-blown Victorian parlor,
complete with carpet, bordered wallpaper,
curtains, framed prints on the walls, upholstered
chairs, table with knick-knacks, and, featured
prominently, a piano (see also Center for History
Now, 1985). Parlors afforded space in which
boarders could engage in vital social rituals,
such as receiving callers, or, as Harriet Robinson
put it in her memoir of mill life, hold "parlor
meetings" like the one she recalled in support of
Mrs. Bloomer's notions of dress reform
(Robinson 1898: 193, reprinted in Bryant and Rae
1950: 184-185).
The contemporary emphasis placed upon
living spaces and on specific items of material
culture that were symbols of domestic ideology
helps us to understand how workers were able to
mediate the contradictions between ideals of
home and the reality of their new living situation.
It highlights the facr that an array of shared
symbols was accessible and subject to
manipulation by corporations and the keepers.
In effect, the monotonous box-like
boardinghouse units through the presence of
certain potent icons could be transformed, if not
into the reality of home or even an imitation of it,
into a space whose elements signified the ideals
of domestic ideology. The icons were
metaphors, parts drawn from a whole, permitting
the mental transference from true home to
symbolic home.3
In a 1973 study Richard Horwitz explored the
cultural symbolism of boardinghouses among
workers through an analysis of primaiy texts
about boardinghouse life and about Lowell in
general. He sought to delineate symbolic
dimensions the housing had for workers by
studying terms and their referents as well as the
modifiers applied to terms used for
boardinghouses. His effort to construct a folk
taxonomy for the Loweil built environment
Thus the relationship is metonymical. Metonymy is a
form of description that uses a "word for a certain object
or idea to denote another object or idea, the latter in
some manner associated with the former, e.g.,
identifying the whole by use of a label for one of its
parts." (Brown 1979: 257). In this case, artifacts, like
words, signify ideas or concepts and facilitate the
metaphorical shift.
290 The Boardinghouse System as a Way of Life
resulted in fact in a cognitive map of the
semantic domain workers employed in
communicating about their surroundings.4
Horwitz noted that although workers did not use
the term home with any regularity to denote the
boardinghouses, they nevertheless did so more
often than he seemed to expect. Our own study
suggests why this is so, and Horwitz's results
serve further to clarify the process of mediation
through metaphor between ideal home and
corporate housing.
Horwitz's study focuses on architecture, on the
built environment. We argue that Horwitz was
mistaken in trying to connect worker response to
their living spaces with perceptions of the
external built environment. The built
environment of Lowell was part of the corporate
machine, serving the aims of the capitalists, not
those of the workers (see Harvey 1976). It is
unlikely that the built environment of Lowell
played a part in workers' concepts of home
(except in a contrastive dimension). As studies
like those of Cohen (cited above) have shown,
workers tended to redefine internal spaces
through material objects and did not define
themselves or their notions of home on the basis
of external architecture. That is, they took
control over what they could — this seldom
included much or any of the built environment
of industrial cities (see also Mrozowski and
Beaudry n.d.).
It is clear that the built environment of Lowell,
especially the boardinghouses and their yards,
were spaces that were both highly controlled and
controlling. If one views access as a defining
quality of space (see Hillier and Hanson 1988), it
is easy to see that access was severely limited —
the boardinghouses each had a single front door
and usually a single door leading into the
backlot. Access to the backlot and its service
facilities, including the privy, was through either
the kitchen or ell, or in some cases, through the
keeper's quarters. The backlots were completely
enclosed with fencing, and there was likely no
more than a single door leading from the
woodshed to the back alley, possibly kept locked.
In other words, access was so controlled that a
stranger could not legitimately penetrate this
The classification cannot be considered a true folk
taxonomy because the use of historical texts as eliciting
contexts does not insure recovery of the entire range of
names used to distinguish items within a class; see
Beaudry (1980: 23-24). But because the terms one finds
in such texts are likely to be those in common use and
hence the most expressive, it is usually true that they
were the most culturally significant in the
contemporary context; cf. Raven, Berlin, and Breedlove
(1971: 1210-14).
space, and those who lived in it had very few
options in terms of how they used it or moved
around in it. The backlots further were embued
both with the functionality of utilitarian space
and with the liminal quality of a danger zone
because of the potentially polluting material —
human and other waste — to be found there. As
Bond's discussion of company correspondence
reveals, the Boott's concern with what went on in
these spaces often focused on 'matter out of
place' (Douglas 1973).
The sense of newness and difference
experienced by female mill operatives in the
early decades of Lowell was not enough for
some, as early protest tracts reveal. 'Juliana'
wrote in 1845 that "All is hurry, bustle and
confusion in the street, in the mill, and in the
overflowing boardinghouse (FLRA 1845: 3). She
exclaimed that the women were "Crowded into a
small room which contains three beds and six
females.... They are confined so long in close,
unhealthy rooms that it is a great wonder that
they possess any life or animation, more than
the machines which they have watched so
unceasingly!"
Another writer, 'Amelia,' wrote bitterly of the
corporations' control over workers' lives beyond
the mill
her footsteps must be dogged to see that they do not
stray beyond the corporation limits, and she must,
whether she will or no, be subjected to the manifold
inconveniences of a large crowded boarding-house,
where too, the price paid for her accommodation is
so utterly insignificant, that it will not ensure to
her the common comforts of life ; she is obliged to
sleep in small comfortless, half ventilated
apartment containing some half a dozen occupants
each . . . (FLRA 1845: 6).
It is not altogether surprising that some young
women found it offensive to be forced "to board
with the mixed multitude congregated in a large
boarding house" (FLRA 1845: Extract from
Factory Tracts Number 2, np), for their farming
background notwithstanding, they were
educated and literate and held middle class
ideals. Hence a woman signing herself simply as
'An Operative' saw fit to object to the rule
compelling all who worked for the companies to
board in company-run houses on the basis that it
conflicted with "our rights as rational beings"
(FLRA 1845: ibid.). She claimed to find it
intolerable to be shut up at night "six in a room,
14 by 16 feet with all the trunks, and boxes
necessary to their convenience" both because it
denied freedom of choice and because it was
unhealthy (ibid.). This despite the fact that
Those who keep the boarding houses do all in their
power in most cases to make the stay of the girls
pleasant, and much credit is due to them. But the
Conclusions 291
means are inadequate to meet the wants of the
operatives, and too many are made to occupy the
same sleeping and sitting apartment.
The crowded conditions made it impossible to
obtain privacy for study or other intellectually
improving pastimes; it also made it impossible to
maintain standards of personal cleanliness and
"frequent bathing so necessary to health" (ibid.).
This disgruntled operative noted that there was
not ample accommodation for each girl to bathe
once a day, a situation, she claimed, that led
every operative living in such circumstances to
"violate the physical laws of God" (ibid.).
These young women, with their concern for
personal space and privacy, for cleanliness and
adequate ventilation, were expressing views
shared with the middle and upper classes,
especially among reform-minded individuals.
They had absorbed much of the ideology of
domestic science and found its application in
the boardinghouses wanting. In their protests,
these female operatives stressed the importance
of being permitted to control their own non-work
time. The conditions they decried were to
worsen over time; by the latter part of the 19th
century, many boardinghouses took in entire
families as well as unrelated individuals. Single
persons continued to be housed dormitory style,
while a family of whatever size occupied a single
large room. Evidence suggests that while
reformers found this situation shocking, the
families involved did not necessarily consider
their circumstances unusual or intolerable.
Horwitz's textual analysis reveals that workers
did not perceive the built environment of Lowell
as integral to their mental constructs of the
boardinghouse as home. Their concerns were
centered around interior spaces and the ways in
which such spaces matched their ideals of a
place to call home. This was constituted by a
mental process that set features of true home in
opposition to features of corporate housing. The
dialectical process reveals the most important
elements of the concept of home: permanence,
comfort, cleanliness, order, presence of kin, etc.
Horwitz includes ventilation, freedom from
crowding, and rural setting as additional
components of the definition he constructs. As
mentioned above, rural setting was no doubt an
element used to contrast Lowell with the rural
farm setting from which most workers came
(hence the opposition country /city operates on
the same level as the contrast between
crowded/isolated, etc. — it serves to highlight
those elements of the ideal of home that survive
in the context of boardinghouse life and those
that do not). Further, Horwitz's scheme and the
small size of his sample do not permit him to
evaluate or rank elements in a reliable way; he
imputes rather than delineates stress on one
element over another.
It is telling that, apart from the obvious
shortcomings of the boardinghouse setting that
made it impossible for it to function as or be
perceived of as true home, it met enough of the
criteria to induce among workers a degree of
satisfaction with their temporary home.
This was accomplished in large measure
through the adoption of fictive kin or surrogate
family in the boardinghouse setting and, most
important, through common acceptance of the
symbolic import of material objects that
embodied the ideals of domestic ideology.
Hence the seeming contradiction between
home as haven and the center of family life and
corporate existence in a boardinghouse could be
mediated. What is more, the boardinghouse
keeper, whose work making a living — sometimes
a profit — as a professional housekeeper, was
protected from contamination through
association with the orofit-oriented male sphere
by her symbolic role as surrogate mother and
care-giver. The mediation of both contradictions
is testimony to the power of domestic ideology
and its penetration into 19th-century culture.
Overcoming the contradiction made it possible
for elements of domestic ideology that
intersected most closely with the aims of
capitalists and with the policy of corporate
paternalism to find form and expression in the
boardinghouse system at Lowell.
'the systematic must bow to the empirical'
We have set ourselves in this report an
enormous and possibly impossible task, that of
blending an interpretive approach, normally
applied to "symbolic" aspects of culture, with the
archeologist's necessary focus on things
material and particular. Geertz (1980: 135) points
out that part of our intellectual legacy from the
19th century is a notion that "'symbolic' opposes
to 'real' as fanciful to sober, figurative to literal,
obscure to plain, aesthetic to practical, mystical
to mundane, and decorative to substantial." In
this work we have attempted to attend both to
the materiality of the data — their substantive
and functional roles — as well as to the
ideological roles. Our concern for the
'situatedness' of the data prompts us to focus on
context — archeological, historical, institutional,
and behavioral context — but we have attempted
to avoid the tendency to treat meaning and
context as static, suspended in time. The
archeological record encodes time and encodes
change over time; hence we can derive from it
292 The Board inghouse System as a Way of Life
evidence of historical process and cultural
change.
To do so with any degree of confidence
requires data; as Braudel (1988: 28) puts it, "it is
not enough to have a correct (or at least
reasonable) theoretical perspective. It must be
put to the test with the facts...." In order to be
able to test our interpretations against the facts,
we have had to eschew paradigms that are
'unified' and programmatic, believing that
before our aims can be met, "the systematic
must bow to the empirical" (Kriedte , Nedick,
and Schlumbohn 1977, quoted in Braudel 1988:
28).
Our research points to one clear fact: people
living in 19th- and early 20th-century Lowell
operated under a different cultural system than
our own (but see Leone 1989). Rather than
tacitly assume that their history is our history —
any more than their lives and thoughts were the
same as ours, we have taken the position that we
should not force a presentist model onto the
past. The archeology in fact shows that
capitalism and what has been termed 'the
culture of capitalism' has changed since the 19th
century. What is more, it changed over the
course the 19th century.
Culture is not monolithic, nor is capitalism. An
approach that treats either as such tends both to
ignore historical process and to relegate the very
people whose history they seek to
'reenfranchise' to the status of victims. Our work
in Lowell has shown that though the
boardinghouse system was ever-present and all-
encompassing, the people who lived and worked
under it were active participants in shaping their
own lives, thereby creating and reinventing
traditions while contributing to the changing
pattern of American culture.
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REPORTS OF THE DIVISION OF CULTURAL RESOURCES
North Atlantic Regional Office, National Park Service
The Division produces and prints reports on archeological , curatorial, historical,
and historic architectural topics that identify, evaluate, document, and interpret
cultural resources in National Park Service units of the North Atlantic Region. Some
of these reports are of general interest for their presentations of substantive,
bibliographic, technical, or methodological information. These are listed below. Those
that are listed with an NTIS number are only available from the National Technical
Information Service, 5285 Port Royal Road, Springfield, VA 22151. Others are available
from the Division of Cultural Resources, NARO, National Park Service, 15 State Street,
Boston, MA 02109. Prices are listed.
Cultural Resources Management Studies
No. 1 Archeological Resource Study, Roger Williams National Monument. NTIS PB81 185134
Public Archaeology Laboratory, Brown University, 1979.
No. 2 Archeological Overview and Evaluation at Minute Man National NTIS PB81 185142
Historical Park. Vernon G. Baker, 1980
No. 3 Historic Resources Study, Jamaica Bay: A History. NTIS PB81 226649
Gateway National Recreation Area, New York-New Jersey.
Frederick R. Black, 1981.
No. 4 Archeological Site Examination: A Case Study in Urban 6.00
Archeology. Roger Williams National Monument.
Patricia E. Rubertone and Joan Gallagher, 1981.
No. 5 Archeological Resource Study, Historical Archeology at NTIS PB83 186957
Bunker Hill Monument. Boston National Historical Park.
Thomas Mahlstedt, 1981.
No. 6 Archeological Investigation at the Narbonne House. Salem 7.00
Maritime National Historic Site. Geoffrey P. Moran,
Edward F. Zimmer, Anne E. Yentsch, 1982.
No. 7 Historic Resource Study, A History of Fort Wadsworth, 4.00
New York Harbor. Frederick R. Black, 1983.
No. 8 Chapters in the Archeology of Cape Cod, I. Results of the NTIS PB85 220101
Cape Cod National Seashore Archeological Survey, 1979-1981
(2 volumes). Francis P. McManamon, editor, 1984.
No. 9 The National Park Service in the Northeast: A Cultural Resource 7.00
Management Bibliography. Dwight T. Pitcaithley, 1984.
No. 10 Celebrating the Immigrant: An Administrative History of the 5.00
Statue of Liberty National Monument, 1952-1982.
Barbara Blumberg, 1985
No. 11 Hoosac Docks: Foreign Trade Terminal. A Case of the 4.00
Expanding Transportation System Late in the Nineteenth
Century. Paul 0. Weinbaum, 1985
No. 12 The 1983 Excavations at 19BN281: Chapters in the Archeology 5.00
of Cape Cod, II. Christopher L. Borstel, 1985
No. 13 Chapters in the Archeology of Cape Cod, III: The Historic 5.00
Period and Historic Period Archeology.
Francis P. McManamon, editor, 1985
No. 14 Inventory of Structures: Morristown National Historical Park. 7.00
David Arbogast, 1985.
No. 15 The Scene of the Battle: Historic Grounds Report, 3.00
Minute Man National Historical Park, Joyce L. Malcolm, 1985
No. 16 Chapters in the Archeology of Cape Cod, IV
No. 17 Chapters in the Archeology of Cape Cod, V: Indian Neck Ossuary 5.00
Francis P. McManamon, James W. Bradley, and Ann L. Magennis, 1986
No. 18 Interdisciplinary Investigations of the Boott Mills, 12.00
Lowell, Massachusetts. Volume I: Life at the Boarding Houses
Mary C. Beaudry and Stephen Mrofcowski, Editors. 1987
No. 19 Interdisciplinary Investigations of the Boott Mills 12.00
Lowell, Massachusetts. Volume II: The Kirk Street Agents1
House.
No. 20 Charlestown Navy Yard, 1890-1973. Volume I and II
Frederick R. Black, 1988
Archeological Collections Management Project Series
No. 1 Archeological Collections Management at Salem Maritime National 4.00
Historic Site. Alan T. Synenki and Sheila Charles, 1983.
No. 2 Archeological Collections Management at Morristown National 3.00
Historical Park, New Jersey. Alan T. Synenki and
Sheila Charles, 1983.
No. 3 Archeological Collections Management of the Great Island 3.00
Tavern Site. Cape Cod National Seashore, Massachusetts.
Alan Synenki and Sheila Charles, 1984.
No. 4 Archeological Collections Management at Minute Man National
Historical Park, Massachusetts. Linda A. Towle and
Darcie A. MacMahon, editors.
Volume 1, Introduction and Fiske Hill Area, 1987 4.00
Volume 2, Nelson Road Area, 1986 6.00
Volume 3, Virginia Road and Wayside Areas, 1986 7.00
Volume 4, North Bridge Area and Miscellaneous
Collections, 1986 9.00
No. 5 Archeological Collections Management at Saugus Iron Works
National Historic Site, Massachusetts, Darcie A. MacMahon, 1988
DATE DUE
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